


Petite Chose

by sweet_charmie



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Sex, Angst, Armie Hammer - Freeform, Charmie, Falling In Love, First Love, Long, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Smut, Timothee Chalamet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-07-29 14:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 53,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16266104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_charmie/pseuds/sweet_charmie
Summary: The slave trade is a brutal thing that Timothée has endured for ten years. As a male omega, at seventeen, he has had a life that nobody would wish upon their worst enemy. Then, his new owner, the cruelest king in the kingdom's history, wants only one thing from Timothée: a son, an heir to Armand's throne.





	1. Chapter 1

Timothée heard the doors slam open at the end of the hallway, and he shrunk as far away from the front of the cage as he could. The doors opening was never a good sign. Somebody was always there to find a new omega, to test them out, then cast them aside because they were deemed “too loose”. Nobody liked a loose omega. Timothée had been tested too many times to count by nearly every alpha in the kingdom, and he was too loose for all of them. 

He did not have many selling points. He had been forced into the slave trade when he was seven and had no definite memory of life before that; he remembered his father being ashamed of having an omega son. Timothée assumed that that was why he was pushed into the slave trade when he was so young. He was underweight, only one hundred pounds at seventeen years old, and his ribs and chest protruded grossly from his skin. His nipples were red from overuse, and his hole ached at the mere scent of an alpha. Timothée was pathetically desperate for an alpha’s touch, almost to the point where he begged each visiting alpha to use him. He never got the necessary pleasure, though; he was chained to the stone wall, with a chastity device locked around his cock and balls, keeping him from even being able to get hard. 

It was a strange contradiction. Timothée was terrified of alphas, but he constantly wanted them to claim him and breed him. He wanted a child more than anything. He had been pregnant once before, but it had ended tragically, and Timothée vowed that he would never have another child until he was out of the slave trade and was his own free person. He wanted an alpha that he knew would treat him and his future child nicely. 

The click of shoes on the stone floor bounced around the walls, and Timothée heard the other omegas begin to mewl at the presence of the alpha. Definitely an alpha; Timothée could smell it. He knew that this was an alpha that he wanted nothing to do with, because no nice alphas came to the palace slave house to find omegas to love. 

Then, a voice: “None of these suit me.” 

“You have not seen all of them,” another voice said. “Brother, you must visit the one at the end, at the very least. I have heard tell of that little one.” 

The shoes clicked down the hallway, and Timothée cowered away from the sudden figure that blocked the light. He was tall, towering outside the bars of the cell, and he was dressed nicely in dark red velvet and silk. His dark hair was brushed through perfectly, dark stubble gracing his chiseled jaw, and his blue eyes hard and trained on Timothée. “You,” his rough voice commanded. “Your name.” 

“T-Timothée,” the boy squeaked out. 

“How old are you?” The man asked. “Fifteen?” 

“Seventeen,” he answered. 

“You look younger than that,” the man said. “Viktor, open the cell. I wish to test him.” 

Timothée’s heart dropped. He knew this kind of alpha, and he knew what he would be nursing wounds for the next few days following this man’s test. He struggled to sit up, his legs folded under him obediently, the way he had been taught, and pain shot up through his knees and thighs. His muscles were so diminished that even moving into position hurt. 

The man must have seen the pain that flashed across Timothée's features, because he said, “Unchain him.” 

The other man, shorter with lighter hair, hurried into the cell and went about unchaining Timothée. The contact of his skin sent shivers up Timothée’s body, and he reached down and wrapped his hand around the hefty metal chastity device. “Well, you’re a little harlot, aren’t you?” He asked.

“Viktor,” the man in red snapped. “Unlock him, and leave us.” 

The moment the chastity device came off, Timothée breathed an unintentional sigh of relief. It was very poorly made and pinched his skin every time he became hard, and it was a joyous occasion for it to come off. The shackles fell away from Timothée’s neck and wrists, and he unconsciously rubbed his neck. The man named Viktor bowed before the man in red, then left the cell. 

“So,” the man in red began. “You are young.” He kneeled down next to Timothée, and he let the smell of the young omega fill his nose. It was sweet and enticing, begging him to fuck and breed. “In heat?” 

“Yes, sir,” Timothée mumbled. “It comes around more often than normal.” 

The man examined Timothée’s body, at the red nipples, and he reached out and took the bud in his fingers. Timothée let out an involuntary groan at the pleasure that shot through him, and the man smiled. “Does that feel good?” He asked. 

“Yes, sir,” Timothée gasped. 

“And your name is Timothée…” the man said softly. “You can call me Armie. Turn around, let me see you.” 

Timothée quickly did as he was told, and Armie examined the part of the omega that mattered the most. His ass was rounded and full and, in-between the folds of his flesh, was a small pink pucker that was already quivering at the notion of an alpha filling it. Slick dripped down his thighs, and Armie felt that hunger stir within him. The carnal hunger and need to fill this pathetic omega with his seed and watch it drip out of him as he laid on that stone floor. 

Armie undid his pants and kneeled behind Timothée, and his fingers pulled Timothée’s ass open wide, wide enough for his burning cock to slide in-between those pert cheeks. Armie was already hard, his body reacting to this omega far quicker than his mind was. Without so much as a warning, he pushed his way into the younger, and Timothée gasped loudly. His fingers pressed into the stone floor, his fingernails digging into it, and he moaned. Armie was a giant of a man, so it made sense that his cock was the same, and it felt fantastic to be filled up by him. He felt completely full, but he knew that this man would tell him that he was ‘too loose’. 

“Good God, little omega,” Armie grunted behind him. “Have you ever been fucked before? I can barely fit inside of you.” 

Timothée’s face grew red at this, and he let out a whine. “Please move,” he whispered. “Please, you’re so big, please move.” 

“Good boy, saying ‘please’,” Armie said, and he grasped Timothée’s hips tightly. He slammed him back onto his cock hard, and Timothée cried out in pleasure. “Do you like that? Good boy, such a good boy for me.” 

Armie slowly pulled himself out, his cock glistening with Timothée’s slick, and he used his strength to turn Timothée onto his back. He pinned his arms down and looked over his chest from a better angle, and he found a small mark on his shoulder in the shape of a small horseshoe— a brand. Timothée had been owned before. “Who owned you previously?” Armie asked. 

“I-I don’t know, sir,” Timothée stammered. “I was so young, I-I don’t remember his name.” 

“How young?” 

“Eight.” 

Armie grasped Timothée’s firm cheeks hard to push his length back into him. Timothée let out a shuddering breath and he pressed his head into Armie’s neck. Armie roughly pulled Timothée down onto him, burying himself up to the hilt in the omega, and Timothée latched his mouth into Armie’s neck. “How many owners…” Armie grunted, and he lifted Timothée up before slamming him back down harshly. Timothée let out a little squeak, and his hole tightened around Armie’s thick length. “Have you had?” 

“Five,” Timothée whimpered. “Only the first branded me. The last disowned me when I…” 

“When you what?” Armie grunted. “Were you a defiant little whore?” 

Timothée paused, then whimpered out, “Yes. I was.”

“I knew it,” Armie growled. “You struck me as the type.” 

He abruptly withdrew from Timothée and pushed him away, and Timothée groaned as his back collided with the stone floor. He felt so empty, so used. He was used to all of it, though. Now was the time that Armie dismissed him and never came back. 

Armie tucked himself into his pants, and he stood up to tower of Timothée. He leaned over and placed a finger under Timothée’s chin to make him look up, and wide hazel eyes looked up at the King. “Do you have clothing?” Armie asked. 

“No, sir,” Timothée whispered. 

“Of course, you don’t,” Armie mused. He straightened up and unbuttoned his jacket, and he helped the small omega into it. He did the buttons up to hide the omega’s delicious body, and he chuckled when he saw the puddle of slick that Timothée sat in. “You are in heat, aren’t you?” Armie laughed. “Little thing. Stand up, follow me.” 

“I—” Timothée began. “I am too weak. I have not walked in months, I have not been able to stand up, being chained to the wall.” 

Armie lifted his eyebrows slightly. “Oh, you can’t?” He asked. “Try.” 

Timothée’s breath caught in his throat, and he stammered, “P-Please, sir, I cannot. I am far too weak!” 

Armie sighed. “Do you know who you are speaking to, little one?” He asked. He watched Timothée shake his head, and he laughed. “You should be calling me Your Majesty.” 

Timothée heard the other omegas in the hall whispering furiously, and he gazed up at Armie. He looked the part of an alpha monarch, with his hulking body and powerful stance. Timothée slowly shifted his weight forward and stood up on shaking legs, and Armie slotted his hands under Timothée’s arms and helped him stand. The boy was not much shorter than him at full height, just a few inches, and Armie smiled at him. “You understand why I am choosing you, yes?” He asked. 

“No, Your Majesty,” Timothée whispered. 

“When you gain weight, and you will,” Armie began. “You will be the perfect omega to sire an heir. But you must get some meat on those bones.” His hands slipped down to Timothée's waist and grasped his skin, and he added, “These hips are not compliant to birth my son.” 

Timothée jerked away from Armie. “You are just using me for a child?” He spat. “Not even for your own pleasure? Solely for a child?” He cut himself off and leaned against the wall, and he pressed his hand to his mouth. Raising his voice at the King— at an alpha— was grounds for a good flogging. He could not even imagine being with child again. “No. I refuse.” 

“See, that is the problem with omegas,” Armie said. “Lippy little things like you always want to try to fight me, but, in the end, every omega gives in.” 

“Why is that?” Timothée remarked with a biting attitude. “You do not seem particularly desirable.” 

“Really?” Armie snuffed. “Then you did not enjoy it when I filled you up? You did not enjoy my hands on your body? You did not think, even if for a second, about me filling your belly with my seed? You did not wish for me to bite down on your neck and claim you?” 

The simplicity in the way that Armie spoke, especially of the purely unsimple things he spoke of, made Timothée’s stomach clench up. This was the King, and he could— and would— do whatever he pleased. Even if Timothée refused, Armie would force it upon him. “I did imagine that,” Timothée said boldly. “But I am an omega in heat, and you are an alpha. It is the nature of our roles for that to happen.” 

Armie chuckled. “Yes, of course, it is,” he said. “Come with me, little omega.” 

“I have a name,” Timothée said. 

“About that,” Armie began. He stepped closer to Timothée, and the younger shrank back. Armie was scenting so heavily; it was obvious that he wanted to be enveloped in Timothée’s wet heat once more. The smell was intoxicating, and Timothée felt his legs go weak. He needed to be dominated. He needed to be fucked and filled up to the brim. “My omegas are used for children. I could honestly care less about names or other such things. If you are my omega, you are referred to as such. And I expect for you to call me your alpha. Never my name.” 

“Why did you tell me your name, then?” Timothée asked. 

“So you would open up to me,” Armie said. “And now, you cannot bear to be apart from me. I will take you upstairs and knot you, then I must go back to my business.” 

Timothée shuddered. The idea of getting knotted made him burn deep in his core, and a wanton desire filled his body. “Why must it be upstairs?” Timothée asked. “Why not here?” 

“Because I am not conceiving my child on a piss-stained floor,” Armie sneered. “Not only that, but would you really want every other omega here be witness to you being dominated and fucked? I could hurt you, for all you know, and you would be stuck down here at the mercy of the others, bleeding, my seed dripping out of you, embarrassed, abashed, ashamed. You do not want that, do you?” 

Timothée shook his head immediately. Memories were coming back to him— laying in his own blood, sobbing from pain, trying to give birth by himself. Trying to get his dearest Madeline to suckle from his breast, but her refusing and crying. Not being able to produce milk for his newborn. He did not want to repeat any of that. 

“I did not think so,” Armie said. “Come with me, omega.” 

Timothée did not answer. When Armie looked at him with hard, blue eyes, he swallowed thickly, and said, “Yes, alpha.”


	2. Chapter 2

The King's chambers were ornately furnished with a large wooden bed, four posters towering to the ceiling with a heavily carved headboard at the front. The floor was dark wood, cold from the winter weather, and the walls were a creamy white. It was intimidating to see how large the bed was, and Timothée stopped dead in the doorway. 

Armie had entered the room before him, and he heard Timothée’s faint footsteps stop abruptly. He turned to see the small omega gazing around the room, and he sighed, “Come in, pathetic little thing.” 

Timothée carefully stepped onto the cold wooden floor, and goose skin appeared on his legs. It was freezing in that room. He immediately moved closer to Armie, seeking out his warmth, and Armie began to undo the jacket around Timothée’s body. “Lay down,” he instructed. 

Timothée shivered once the jacket was off, and he climbed onto the bed. He sat, waiting for Armie’s next instructions, and he watched the man look over his body. He had contusions from past owners all over his skin, and, on his ass cheeks, were permanent bruises in the shape of fingers. He felt so wrong sitting in the King’s bed with the marks of abuse on his body. 

“Open your legs,” Armie said, and he began to undress. He wore a shirt under the jacket, and Timothée watched as his golden chest became open to the air. This man was far different than his other owners— he had a nice body. The only men who had ever wanted him were older, with rotund bellies and foul breath. Timothée laid on his back and parted his legs slowly, and he felt the burning in his core. He needed Armie. 

“Alpha,” he whined, high in his throat. “Please.” 

“You will wait,” Armie snapped. After a moment, he said, “Legs wider. Or do I need to tie them up so that they are as open as I wish?” 

“No, Your Majesty,” Timothée mumbled, and he opened his legs wider. He knew that his slick was staining the velvet blankets on the bed, and he hoped that Armie did not care. 

Armie stopped once his chest was bare, and he leaned over the vulnerable omega. “You are already so wet,” he whispered, and his fingers fell down to Timothée’s ass. He parted his cheeks and nudged his hole with the tips of his fingers, and he chuckled. “Little bitch, in heat for your alpha.” 

Timothée’s face was completely red. He hated being spoken to like that, demeaning and patronizing. He knew that he could not cry, so he bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Armie’s fingers slide into him easily, and Armie laughed. “You are tight, I will give you that,” he said. “But you could do with a little loosening.” 

Timothée reached out and clutched the blankets. He needed something to ground him during this humiliating time, to keep him from floating off and disobeying the King. A third finger pressed its way into him, and a whine escaped his throat. As much as he did not want to enjoy this, the feeling of an alpha inside of him was pleasing to his inner animal. He could be defiant when he wanted to, but, when it came to an alpha, he would bend to the alpha’s will. “Alpha,” He whimpered. “W-Want your cock.” 

The fingers left him quickly, and Armie said, “Open your eyes.” Timothée peeled his eyes open just in time to watch Armie fit his fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking Timothée’s slick from them. Timothée’s breath left his chest, and he whimpered again. The feeling of pleasure and desire was so heavy in his whole body and he was so hard and leaking so quickly that he thought that he would come in the first moments of penetration. 

Armie grabbed Timothées hips tightly and pushed his length into the younger’s wet heat. Timothée squirmed at the reintroduction of the monstrous, burning length, and he grabbed fistfuls of Armie’s perfectly-done hair. Armie began a pace that was almost too much for Timothée, pushing and pulling and prodding at that delicious spot inside of him, and Timothée moaned and whined for Armie to go deeper, fill him completely, wreck him, ruin him. Armie let out small grunts into Timothée’s neck that was driving the omega wild, and he began to lick over Timothées pulse point. Armie could feel the blood rushing through his veins under its prison of skin, and he completely lost himself in the smell and feel of the little omega. He fucked into him harder than before, grumbling for Timothée to hurry up and come, and Timothée shrieked when the headboard slammed into the wall. His heart rate sped up, his blood began pumping heavily, and Armie could smell the hormones rushing through him. He needed to claim the omega. 

Armie moved one hand to Timothée’s chest, and he began fondling the abused red nipples. Timothée cried out in pleasure, feeling completely overwhelmed by all of it, and Armie licked up the shell of his ear and whispered in a deep, husky, undeniably-alpha voice: “Come now.” 

Stars flashed in front of Timothée’s eyes and his back arched as he tightened around Armie’s cock. His own cock shuddered and began to expel his seed onto his stomach and chest, and Timothée wished that Armie would kiss him. All he wanted in the aftermath of his orgasm was to be held and taken care of. He loved when alphas knotted him, because they were forced to hold him and watch over him until they were finished. 

Timothée’s hole and warm velvet insides milked Armie’s cock, begging him to come and fill his body with his seed. In those moments, Timothée was imagining being with Armie's child, carrying him to full term and giving birth, surrounded by nurses doting over him. He imagined holding his child and having him suckle from his breasts. He imagined being strong enough to produce milk. He fantasized about the most basic functions of being a fertile omega. “Alpha,” Timothée whispered. His voice was thick and heavy with lust. “I will give you a son. I swear to it.” 

“Do you know—” Armie began and thrust into Timothée hard enough to make the headboard slam into the wall again. “How many omegas have said that to me?” 

Timothée whined softly, and he slung his legs around the alpha’s waist to draw him in deeper. “Please,” he whispered. “Fill me, knot me, breed me. Please.” 

Armie grunted heavily into Timothée's neck, and he latched his mouth onto the skin. He began to suck hard at the pulse point, wanting to mark him without claiming him. Claiming would come later; he just wanted his scent on the omega so that every other alpha in the palace knew that this omega was solely for the King. Armie slid into Timothée up to the hilt, and he pushed his knot into the younger. “Alpha,” Timothée moaned. “Please come.” 

Armie sent one more thrust into the omega, and he was coming. It was one of the better orgasms that an omega had given him, and he groaned softly at the pleasure than ran through his veins. He felt himself spilling into the omega, filling him up to the brim with his seed, and Timothée whimpered at the sensation. The knot kept everything inside of him, and Timothée tried to focus on calming his breaths and his heart. He was so overwhelmed at every sensation, and he let his head fall back onto the bed. 

The King pulled his mouth from Timothée’s neck, and he saw a firm red circle on his neck. Within the day, it would turn purple, and everybody would see that he belonged to him. The two laid together, breathing heavily and trying to calm down, and Armie finally whispered, “How long ago?” 

“Pardon?” Timothée whispered. 

“Your rim is tight, but your insides are loose,” Armie said. “Like you carried a child. How long ago was it?” 

“Two years ago,” Timothée mumbled. “I was fourteen when I became pregnant, and I was fifteen when she was born.” 

“Where is she now?” Armie asked. 

“I do not know,” Timothée said. “I was too weak to make milk and, since my owner— the father— did not want her in the first place, he did not offer any alternate food. She passed quickly. He took her little body away from me, and I have no idea where she is now.” 

Armie nodded. “You are still able to became pregnant?” He asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Timothée answered. “I assume I am.” 

“Good,” Armie whispered. 

Timothée was young, but he knew when things were awkward. He kept his eyes closed and buried his face in his alpha’s neck to hide himself from the embarrassment. He knew that Armie was only knotting him in an attempt to impregnate him and that it was not to be intimate with him, but that did not stop Timothée’s lips from quivering. He wanted a kiss. Just a simple kiss. He had been kissed before and actually far preferred it to any other sexual activity, and he just wanted to feel his alpha's lips on his, kissing him gently and breathing him in. He could not initiate it, though; if Armie did not want it, he could be punished. 

Timothée had heard tell of King Armand. He was thirty to Timothée’s seventeen, and he was a ruthless man. He waged war against any country that wronged him, and his army was in such a shape that he won every war. He had a strict code for the different social classes, on who could interact with who on what conditions, and, of course, just like every other society, alphas were the high class, betas were middle class, and the omegas, the submissives, were on the bottom of the food chain, forced into slavery to appease the alphas. There was virtually no crime in the kingdom because of the punishments— flogging, whipping, hanging. The kingdom had not yet adopted the French art of the guillotine, but it was not far off. Usually, the criminals were omegas who had escaped their abusive ownerships and lived in the streets illegally. They were the ones to steal food, to thieve clothing from drying lines, and they were the ones who were punished most severely. Children were taken away from mothers, fathers were separated from families. The offending omega was sentenced to prison for simple petty theft, and death was served up for heavy theft. It was not just theft that plagued the kingdom: there was murder— jealous alphas killing others who try to coerce owned omegas— and kidnapping, and the ever-present slave trade. Supposedly, when Armand came to power ten years prior, slavery was abolished, but the omega trade still survived. They were sex slaves rather than working slaves, although some omegas were forced to do work. That was part of Timothée’s punishment for becoming pregnant: he had to get down on the ground and scrub the floors until his owner could see his reflection. Towards the end of the pregnancy, when Timothée was so pregnant that it looked like he would pop at any second, it was difficult to kneel down, and his back would seize up and he would not be able to stand back up. His appetite abandoned him, and every maternal sense fled to focus on keeping Timothée alive. 

“Alpha?” Timothée mumbled. “Can I have a kiss?” 

Armie sighed. “No,” he said. “This is not for you to enjoy.” 

“But it is for you to enjoy,” Timothée mumbled. “Nobody’s pleasure matters unless it is yours.” 

“Correct,” Armie said simply.

“And you expect me to just accept that?” Timothée asked. “I will have you know, Armand, that I—” 

“Hush,” Armie said. “That quick wit might be charming to others, but, to me, it grates my nerves.” 

“Oh, so you do not like an opinionated omega?” Timothée asked. 

“No, I do not,” Armie said. “Omegas should know their place. They do not speak unless their owners tell them to, and they—” 

“Only exist for children?” Timothée finished. 

“Yes,” Armie snapped. “Now, hush up.” 

Timothée rolled his eyes as he settled his face back into Armie’s neck. “I suppose you do not enjoy a dominant omega, then?” He asked. “You always have to have control.” 

Armie let out a huff. “Alphas are made to be in control,” he said. “Omegas are made to submit. That is the way nature intended, and that is what I believe.” 

“You believe in such archaic notions,” Timothée grumbled. “You cannot usher in progress without giving up some traditions.” 

“I said hush,” Armie barked. “I will not hesitate to put you in your place.” 

“What does that mean?” Timothée asked. “Will you hit me? Not let me eat? Send me back to—” 

Without warning, Armie withdrew from Timothée, and the younger gasped. It was too early to pull out, and Timothée breathed heavily as he felt Armie’s seed drip from him. “You are not supposed to speak,” Armie said firmly. “This is your punishment: not getting my knot.” 

“Armie, please,” Timothée begged. He sat up and reached out for Armie’s hand, but Armie shifted away to begin dressing. “Please, alpha. I need your knot, please, you cannot—”

“I can,” Armie said, and he did up the ties on his pants. “And I did. You will stay in this room and clean that filth off of you, and, when I get back, we will try this again. If you speak out, leave the room, give any outsiders any idea that you exist in my bed, you will be sent back to that slave house. Understand?” 

Timothée nodded quickly, but he could not control the shaking that filled his legs. He needed the knot. Every part of his being needed the knot. He needed the feeling of being protected and taken care of; he could not bear to be abandoned during that time. Armie had to know how cruel of a punishment this was. 

Armie left soon after, and Timothée pulled himself from the bed. His legs were shaking so violently that he could only sit on the cold wooden floor and shiver as he felt Armie’s seed leaking out of him. He cried into his arms, trying to keep quiet. If anybody heard him, it was back to the slave house; at that moment, that did not seem so bad. 

Timothée cried until his senses were so overwhelmed and he was so worn out that he drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He was still sniffling and he was aware enough to know when people passed in the hallway just outside the closed door, and, when the door creaked open, Timothée made no attempt to wake up. After a few moments, he was surrounded by warmth and being picked up, and he was set in the bed. His savior wrapped the blankets around him and brushed his hair off of his forehead in an almost loving fashion. Then, they retreated from the room, leaving only their scent: the scent of a recently-spent alpha.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for 1k views already!! it means so much. enjoy!

Timothée woke up to the sound of the door slamming shut. He blearily opened his eyes to see the King moving about the room, muttering to himself. Timothée watched as he undressed, admiring the pull of his muscles under his skin, and he kept in his wanton noises when his pants came off. He was still so desperate to be knotted, but he knew that Armie would never indulge him in that. The scent lingered— a spent alpha. His savior. 

Timothée shifted just enough for the blankets to rustle together, and Armie turned to look at him. He looked him over once, then turned back to finish his task. “I never took you to be the cuddling type,” Armie said. 

Timothée looked down at the pillow in his grasp, and he recognized the musky scent from it. Armie’s pillow. His alpha's pillow. “Sometimes,” Timothée said softly. 

Armie walked over to the bed, and Timothée stole a glance at his body. He was stark naked, every inch of his skin open to the cold air, and Timothée admired the golden chest and taut stomach. “Are you going to be a good omega?” Armie asked. “Follow directions? Do as I tell you?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Timothée said. 

“Then, move over,” Armie said. Timothée immediately shifted to the edge of the bed, allowing Armie to slip in next to him, and the alpha settled in amongst the nest of blankets. Timothée was stunned that he was being permitted to stay in bed, and he turned so that his back was facing Armie. “Face me,” Armie said, and his hand fell onto Timothée’s waist. It would have been a nice gesture, if not for the fear that filled Timothée. Would Armie take him right there? He was unsure if he could do that again. He was too tired and he just wanted something to eat. 

Timothée turned back to face Armie, and the King placed his hands on Timothée’s stomach. “You have marks on your skin,” Armie said. 

“From where my skin stretched,” Timothée said. “When I was with child.” 

“When you become pregnant again,” Armie began. “I will give you an ointment that relieves those marks. My mother used it, and it works like a charm.” 

“I do not care about marks on my skin,” Timothée said. 

“But I do,” Armie said. “Omegas should be presentable.” 

“Why do you act like this?” Timothée asked suddenly. “Why do you care so much about how I look or how I act? Because I should be presentable?” 

“Omegas are not good for anything other than giving children,” Armie said. “Especially male omegas. Female omegas can be independent, but male omegas…” He clucked his tongue several times in disdain. “Male omegas lean on the knot, and it becomes their world. You cannot deny that you have been blinded before by the prospect of a good knotting.” 

Timothée sighed. “I have been, yes,” he mumbled. “Which is why your punishment was torture. Do you know anything of proper breeding? The alpha is supposed to knot the omega, then stay with them and protect them. It is natural for the alpha to protect—” 

“Do not start with me about what is natural and what is not,” Armie said. He turned into his back, and he said, “I know the consequences of what I did, which is why I did it. You need to learn that you cannot do certain things, especially with me as your alpha.” 

“Like what?” Timothée asked. He sat up on his elbows, and he said, “What can I not do?” 

“First of all,” Armie began and shot Timothée a look. “You cannot talk back to me. My word is final. When in public, you cannot speak unless you are directly spoken to. You must follow my every order, look presentable, and, most importantly, give me a son. That is why you are here, to give me an heir.” 

Timothée rolled his eyes and turned his back towards Armie again. “You are despicable,” he whispered. 

“Oh, I am sorry,” Armie began. “Would you rather sleep on the floor?” 

“Anything is better than you,” Timothée mumbled. “Send me back to that slave house, I do not care anymore.” 

“You need to learn how to shut up,” Armie growled. 

“Make me,” Timothée barked. 

There was silence, and then Armie grabbed Timothée’s shoulder and forced him onto his back. He pinned Timothée’s arms down and growled into his neck, and Timothée gasped at the feeling of Armie’s teeth on his skin. “Be quiet,” Armie mumbled. “Or I will make you be quiet.” 

“Oh, really?” Timothée quipped. “And how will you do that?” 

Armie snapped his jaw shut, and Timothée let out a cry. It did not hurt, but the actions were so similar to being claimed that it took him by surprise. If he bit down a little harder, sank his teeth in… Timothée beat on Armie’s chest, trying to get him away, and Armie began to lick over the bitten skin. “Leave me alone,” Timothée mumbled. “Good God, you animal, send me back!” 

“Hush,” Armie whispered and continued to lick over the wound. “You are bleeding. Let me fix it.” 

“Not if my life depended on it!” Timothée cried. He shoved Armie away and clambered out of bed, and he held onto one of the posts of the bed to keep his balance. “I will sleep on the floor, in a different room, go back to the slave house, anything other than sharing a bed with you!” 

Armie looked over the small omega, shivering at the sudden loss of heat, and he said, “Stop being stubborn. You are too small to be out of bed right now. Come back and let me tend to your wound. Timothée, you need the help.” 

“No, I do not,” Timothée snapped. “I need to go home!” 

“You have no home, you defiant bitch!” Armie cried. “Your parents sold you off ten years ago! They did not want you, and that is why they sold you! You have no home to go back to! Do you mean your previous owner, the man who beat you for being pregnant? Or your first owner, who raped you when you were seven?” 

Timothée’s knees buckled, and he fell to the floor with a thump. His breathing was rushed, his heart erratic. For years, he had gotten by on the thought that his parents would want him to come home, and he knew that they sold him for a reason, but hearing it out loud broke his heart. His parents truly did not want him. 

The floor creaked as Armie stepped down from the bed, and he reached down and scooped Timothée into his arms. “Hush, little thing,” Armie whispered. Timothée choked on his sobs, and, without thinking, he buried his face into the alpha’s chest, seeking warmth and comfort. “Let me have someone draw a bath for you. Stay in bed, I will be back soon.” 

“Why did you tuck me in?” Timothée mumbled. 

Armie was quiet. He looked down at the pathetic young man in his arms, his eyes brimming, the tip of his button nose red. He was shaking— from the cold? From being frightened?— and the tips of his fingers were blue. From the cold. “Because…” Armie began, and sighed. “It is complicated. I will explain it later.”

_____

Hair tickled his face, and Timothée gave a delicate sneeze. He opened his sleepy eyes and saw that he was pressed right up against Armie’s warm body, his face buried in Armie’s underarm. The alpha's arm was tight around his shoulders, and Timothée could smell his scent, heavy in the air. He needed to breed. He knew that, when Armie awoke, he would take Timothée that very moment. 

“Alpha,” Timothée whispered. “ _Alpha_.” 

There was a grumble, and Armie turned tired eyes towards Timothée. “Good morning, omega,” he mumbled. “Why are you waking me before the sun is up?” 

“I can smell it on you,” Timothée said. “You need to breed me.” 

“I am far too tired,” Armie whispered. “Go back to sleep, silly little thing.” 

Timothée grunted. How could an alpha ever say no to a willing omega? He had to have had incredible self control. “If you will not do it,” Timothée began, and he hiked a leg over Armie’s waist and pulled himself to sit atop the alpha. “I will.” 

“What in the name of God—” Armie began, but he stopped when he saw the omega's glittering eyes. He wanted that. Armie hated being rough and forcing Timothée to engage in sex, but he needed him to know the correct things to do. Maybe just once, he would let Timothée take what he wanted. “Go on, then. If you want to play a seductive game, then you shall play it.” 

Timothée smiled, and he leaned forward and softly licked up Armie’s neck. His pulse point was heavy with scent, musky and dark, just like a dominant alpha's scent should be, and Timothée found himself lapping at the point. The scent filled his mouth and his nose, wrapping itself around his spine and traveling to his mind. As soon as the scent hit his brain, he felt slick begin to leak from his hole. He was surprised that that was all it took, just the scent. 

Timothée pressed his hips down onto the King’s, and he let out a moan as he felt Armie hardening quickly under him. Was it his natural instincts? Was he aroused this quickly by Timothée? Whatever the reason, Timothée let out a little sob at the anticipation of the burn and the stretch. His dull fingernails dragged down Armie’s chest, and he mumbled, “A-Alpha, please. I cannot do it on my own, please dominate me.” 

Armie chuckled darkly. “With pleasure, little thing.” 

Timothée was thrown onto his back, and he laughed when Armie began to lick down his body. His tongue dragged down his skin, and he seemed to take special care to lick over the white stretch marks on Timothée’s stomach. Timothée hated those marks, absolutely hated them. They were the reminder of the worst experience of his life: losing his first child. Not only that, but they were not ‘presentable’. The way that Armie lavished them, though, carefully licking each and every one and sucking hard on a few of the bigger ones, made Timothée confused. If Armie hated those marks so much, why was he covering them in lovemarks? 

They fucked as the sun came up, sweat pouring from their bodies and wetting the sheets. The bed creaked with every thrust, and Armie pushed his hand to cover Timothée’s mouth. “Too loud,” he grunted into Timothée’s ear. “Do you want everybody hearing you being a whore?” 

As the knot swelled up inside of Timothée, he pulled Armie close to him by his shoulders. “Please stay,” he whispered. “Please, _please_ stay.” 

“I am not leaving,” Armie said. “I swear to you.” He nestled his face into Timothée’s neck and began to lick over his neck again. It was lazy, just soft and gentle, not the frantic thing that he had done earlier. “Let me look at you,” Armie whispered and pulled his face from Timothée’s neck, and he took Timothée’s chin in his hand. Timothée’s eyes were brimming with tears of overstimulation and his cheeks were red. He looked beautiful to Armie. 

Timothée let out a surprised squeak when Armie pressed his lips to his, but he closed his eyes and enjoyed the kiss for as long as Armie would let him. It was a short kiss, but it was hard and almost bruising. It was just what Timothée needed to be satisfied. 

By the time Armie’s knot contracted and he was able to pull out, everywhere he had sucked was blooming a light purple. “Perfect,” He said and kissed Timothée’s stomach. “Get dressed, omega. You have a big day.” 

“Doing what?” Timothée asked. He was in a daze at finally being knotted after so long, and he wanted to stay in Armie’s embrace with his kiss on his lips forever. 

“Being introduced to my council,” Armie said. “As the prospective mother of my child.” 

“How many omegas have you had?” Timothée asked. 

“So far, three,” Armie said slowly. “Two became pregnant, but both died in childbirth, and the third did not even become pregnant.” 

“You have two children?” Timothée asked. “Why do you need me?” 

“Those children died with their mothers,” Armie said. “I had not even been permitted to hold them.” 

Timothée was quiet. He had no idea. Did anybody else in the kingdom know? Surely his council knew of it. “We have both lost children,” he said softly. “I am so sorry.” 

Armie shrugged as he moved to dress. “It is not your fault,” he said. “I do hope that you are my lucky charm this time.” 

Timothée was so conflicted. He wanted to make sure that Armie was happy, because losing two children along with their mothers had to take a toll on a person, but he also was scared of the pregnancy and how he would be treated. Past that, what would happen during the birth? Male omegas ran a sizely risk of having a natural birth, and it was a miracle that Timothée had not died with the first birth. It was really no surprise that the other omegas had passed, but it was still tragic. 

Timothée got out of bed and made his way to Armie, and he softly kissed his back. It was red with scratches from Timothée’s nails, and the younger kissed every mark. He said nothing, and he hoped that his kisses conveyed the message that he wanted them to. _I will give you a son_ , the kisses said. _A healthy son. And I will be here to help you raise him._


	4. Chapter 4

Timothée gasped as the corset was tightened, and he exclaimed, “Good God, really?” 

“It is customary dress for royal omegas,” the maid told him. She was a nice girl; a beta, by the smell of her. Her name was Esther. She had gentle hazel eyes and thick brown hair pulled back under a white cap, and she seemed to have regrets about lacing up the corset. The customary dress was pants, the corset, a shirt that exposed his shoulders, and canvas shoes. His hair was styled away from his face, and a soft red paint was applied to his lips in an almost Elizabethan-style of makeup. His skin was pale from years of inside servitude, which only increased the look. “I know it is horrible, but you must,” Esther added. 

Timothée huffed and adjusted his shirt to fall the way it should. “What will happen when I become pregnant?” He asked. “Will I be forced into a corset?” 

“No,” Esther said and tightened the lacing again, only for Timothée to take in a deep breath. “You will be permitted to dress in whatever is comfortable.” 

“All the more incentive to be with child,” Timothée groaned. 

“Yes,” Esther said. “Is this too tight?” 

“Must it go tighter?” Timothée asked meekly. 

“Just a bit,” Esther mumbled. “But, if it pains you, I can keep it loose. We can claim that there suspicions of pregnancy and we were too afraid to make it tight.” 

“Yes, please,” Timothée gasped. He felt as if his ribs were being crushed into his lungs, and he could not capture a stable breath. “I _may_ be with child, so we can never be too cautious.” 

“Wonderful,” Esther said. She did up the lacing of the corset, making sure it was secure, and she moved around to Timothée’s front to fix his hair. It was already in the pulled-back fashion, and she pulled a few delicate curls out to frame his face. “There we go,” she said. “I am sure that you are up to the King’s standards.” 

“Thank you, Esther,” Timothée nodded. “You may go.” 

“Farewell,” she said with a smile, and happily bounded out of the room. Timothée was unsure of how old Esther was— he suspected younger than him, fifteen at the most— and he wondered about her life. Surely, she was not part of a slave trade. Timothée’s heart broke slightly at the thought of such a young beta in the slave trade. He never liked to think of himself as unfortunate because of his age and experiences; he despised thinking of things like that, so he just did not. It was the best thing for him to do. 

Timothée moved over to the window and looked out at the snow, and he tried to remember how he ended up in the snowy kingdom. His birthplace was in the south, with warm weather year-round, and he could barely remember the locations of everywhere he had been owned. Different kingdoms, yes, all with different weather patterns and sceneries. He knew that, somehow, he had traveled up the coast and into the kingdom of Borovia. Borovia was a centuries-old dynasty, the bloodline kept distinctly royal for as long as possible. The Hammer dynasty had come to power about a hundred years before, and Armand was one in a long line of kings. There had been queens in the past, but the kings were the ones that were remembered. Borovia sat in the valley of a large mountain range, meaning that it rained nearly every day; snowed, in the winter months. There was a gorgeous lake a few miles from the outskirts of the city, and, if one had the time and resources, they could travel a week out to the seaside coast. Timothée had never been, though he heard it was lovely.

The floor creaked behind him, and Timothée whirled on his heel to see the staggering height of his alpha in the doorway. “Come, little thing,” Armie said. He sounded strong and commanding, dressed in red with gold trimmings, various medals and badges pinned to his jacket. As King, he was the head of the army, and he had served for most of his teenage and young adult years in some of the bloodiest battles in Borovia’s history. There was a legend that Armie had fought off an invading army with a broken sword and that he had been autographed with the mark of Achilles— a scar on the back of his ankle— from the ordeal. Timothée had never seen the back of his ankle, though, so he could neither confirm nor deny the legend. “Let us meet my council.” 

In a fit of shyness, Timothée lowered his eyes. “Do I look presentable?” He mumbled. “I want your council to think highly of me.” 

He heard Armie’s lengthy gait approach him, and a soft pad of a finger balanced itself under his chin. His head was forced up to look Armie in the eyes, and he was taken aback by how startlingly clear his eyes were. An ice blue, a baby boy’s blue. Dark hair, blue eyes, tan skin; he was the perfect man, not to mention the perfect alpha. He would be a wonderful father. Armie turned Timothée's face to the side to examine his hair, then to the other side, and he chuckled low in his throat. He slouched down and set a careful lick to Timothées pulse point and the purpling mark that he had made, and he whispered, “You look good enough to eat.” 

“Oh, God,” Timothée mumbled. 

Armie straightened up to his full six and a half feet, and he looked down at the boy, exactly seven inches shorter than him. Timothée’s pale cheeks were flushed a brilliant vermillion, and his hooded hazel eyes were everywhere but the King. Armie took a moment to admire the thick, coal-black eyelashes that framed his eyes, then he said, “Now, now. Do not go and become a prude on me.” 

“I am not a prude,” Timothée huffed, suddenly possessing a biting attitude. 

“Then, why do you flush at the mention of something sexual?” Armie asked. “Does it make you uncomfortable?” 

“No…”

“Does it embarrass you?” 

“No…”

Armie instantly recognized the emotion in Timothées face. This was not a virgin’s flush in his face and neck; this was the flush of a flattered young omega. “Does it flatter you?” Armie chanced. “Me, making my desires with you known?” 

“Yes,” Timothée mumbled. Then, his eyes darkened, and he revised, “No.” 

“Well, those are the two options,” Armie chuckled. “Choose one.” 

Timothée pressed his lips— _full, pink lips, so good, have to taste, have to taste_ — together, and he said, “Yes.” 

“I knew it,” Armie smiled. His inner animal, the alpha side of his brain, was telling him to push Timothée against the wall and tear those clothes to shreds and fuck him deep and hard. The little curls around Timothée’s face were doing wonders for Armie’s libido. “May I kiss you?” 

Timothée looked startled. His eyes widened and his cheeks flushed darker, and his bottom lip turned open slightly in shock. “Now?” He asked. “B-But the meeting—” 

“It is one kiss, little thing,” Armie said. His hands fell down to Timothée’s waist and he pulled him flush against his body, and he relished the heat from Timothée’s body. The boning of the corset pressed uncomfortably against Armie’s chest and stomach, and he could only imagine how it felt for Timothée. To be so small and underfed that his bones protruded from his skin; it had to be painful. “How about I take off this ridiculous corset, and you kiss me?” 

Timothée stared hard at Armie’s throat. “I can initiate it?” He mumbled. He raised his eyes tentatively to Armie’s, still completely intimidated by the alpha, and he added, “And you would really take it off?”

“Yes, I would,” Armie said. “And, yes, you can.” 

Timothée stood stock-still at this, and he gasped lightly when Armie’s hands skated up his sides and to his back, where the corset was tied up. He pulled at the lacing, and the corset sagged with relief. Timothée let out a deep breath, and Armie aided in taking the nettlesome corset off. It fell to the wooden floor with a heavy thunk of the boning, and Armie moved his hands to Timothée's front. The boy was so small that both of Armie’s hands covered the full expanse of his torso. Armie hummed gently in content, and he said, “Well? Are you keeping up your end of the bargain?” 

Timothée moved closer and laced his hands around the back of Armie’s neck, and he rose up to try to match his height. Of course, it did not work, so Armie wrapped his arms around the omega and lifted him up to his height. Timothée stared at Armie’s lips, the tip of his tongue slowly dragging down his bottom lip, and a feral growl bubbled up from Armie’s chest. He needed to taste that tongue, lick into the warmth of Timothée’s mouth. What he really wanted to do was pull down Timothée’s pants and bend him over and swallow every molecule of the slick that leaked from Timothée, but he was sure that Timothée would not want that, especially since he had been knotted only an hour ago. 

Timothée did not seem startled by the growl. He let out a little laugh, and he said, “God, that sounds nice.” 

“Did you like it?” Armie asked. 

“Yes,” Timothée said. “Do it again.” 

“I cannot do it on command,” Armie chuckled. “Kiss me first, then I will do it again.” 

Timothée pressed his cheek to Armie’s, feeling the stubble of a beard growing on his jaw, and he sent a small kiss to his cheek. Armie turned his head and softly bit Timothée’s ear, and he mumbled, “Do what you are told, omega.” 

Timothée chuckled at the lightness in the command, and he shifted to kiss Armie. The kiss was soft, their mouths open. Armie’s tongue breached Timothée’s lips and licked up into him, and Timothée let out a soft moan. It could have been mistaken for a breath if Armie was not the one to cause it. 

“Well!” A voice boomed, and Timothée gasped. He jumped out of Armie’s embrace, and Armie turned to see a different man. He had the same tall and built stature that Armie had, with silky black curls on his head. He had light blue eyes, and he wore a dark purple outfit with army medals on it. “I knew you had an omega, Hammer, but I never imagined something like this!” 

“Cavill,” Armie said fondly, and he embraced the man. “What have I told you about sneaking into my chambers?” 

“When you have killed in battle together, sneaking into a bedroom is a lesser offense,” Cavill laughed. His voice was loud and accented; the perfect yin to Armie’s yang. “Are you going to introduce me to your omega?” 

“Of course,” Armie said. “Timothée, this is General Henry Cavill. We fought in the war together. Cavill, this is Timothée.” 

“How do you do?” Henry asked cordially, and he took Timothée’s hand and kissed it. “How long have you been in the palace?” 

“Today is my first day,” Timothée said. “I arrived yesterday.” 

“Wonderful,” Henry said. “And my dear King is treating you kindly?” 

“Yes,” Timothée said. “Much better than past owners.” 

“He better be,” Henry laughed, and he sent a punch to Armie’s shoulder. The force of it knocked Armie back a step, and that growl came up from Armie’s throat again. 

“You wish to fight, Cavill?” Armie asked with a smile. “You will remember who won the last fight.” 

“I had a torn muscle,” Henry groaned. “I could barely hold my lance.” 

“Regardless, I won,” Armie said. He wrapped an arm tightly around Timothée’s waist, and he added, “I was about to introduce Timothée to my council.” 

“Lovely,” Henry said. “Say, little omega, if you ever get bored with Hammer, I will be here.” 

“Now, what did I say about flirting with my omegas?” Armie laughed. His laugh was strained, though. Was he truly uncomfortable with Henry flirting with Timothée? “I said not to, correct?” 

“How could you blame me, Hammer?” Henry asked. “You have chosen an attractive omega. A little small for you, I would say, but attractive nonetheless.” 

“Thank you,” Armie nodded. “Off you go to the meeting hall.” 

“Of course,” Henry said. “Farewell, Timothée.” 

Timothée watched the man leave, and he let out a breath that he was not aware he was holding. “He was an odd one,” Timothée mumbled. 

“He has been my closest friend since we were children,” Armie said. “He proved himself in the war, and he was promoted to general by my father. When I came to power, I thought it unfair to take the title from him.” 

“How generous,” Timothée said. 

“Yes,” Armie nodded. “You must promise never to speak to Henry alone. He has strong powers of persuasion, and I would hate for you to—” He cut himself off, and he looked down at Timothée’s body. “You understand the rest, surely.” 

“No, actually, I do not,” Timothée said. He understood, of course, but he wanted to hear Armie admit to having a modicum of softness in his heart. 

Armie exhaled through his nose. “I would hate for you to get hurt,” he said slowly. “If you are injured, emotionally or physically, it will be difficult for you to be with child.” 

“Yes,” Timothée mumbled. “Very difficult.” 

Armie could deny it all he wanted to, but Timothée could see past those clear blue eyes. He cared about Timothée. He showed it in the way that he held Timothée tightly as he slept, in how he made sure Timothée had as much food as he wished at breakfast earlier that morning, how he had given him a lavender-scented soap to bathe with. He could claim that it was all to make Timothée presentable, but Timothée was young, not stupid; he knew when somebody had basic human decency. 

“Let us go meet my council,” Armie said. “If Henry has anything to do with it, they have already heard all about you. He is a talkative one, he is. An odd duck.”

_____

Timothée sat obediently next to Armie throughout the meeting. He had been introduced to each member of the council, and he was rather shocked to meet Alicia. She was on the council as an affairs advisor, which meant she helped Armie converse with other kingdoms and build a strong alliance. Alicia had beautiful caramel skin with dark hair and eyes, and she wore a white Grecian-style dress with a shawl of silk over her shoulders. She looked so established and important; a woman on the royal council. Who would have thought? 

Alicia took special care to make sure Timothée was comfortable, giving him a cushion to sit on with a wink. “I understand these things,” she said and patted her stomach lightly. “Eight months along.” 

“Congratulations,” Timothée beamed. “And thank you.” 

“Of course,” Alicia said. “We omegas must stick together.” 

A _pregnant omega_ on the royal council. Timothée was impressed. She must have fought in the war alongside Henry and Armie, because she fit right in with them, laughing and hitting Henry’s arm when he was crass, which was often. Timothée watched as Henry leaned down and kissed the top of Alicia’s head, and he patted her expanding belly. Because she was so petite, she was showing, but the cut and flow of her dress made it inconspicuous. Was it an act of friendly affection, or more? Timothée remembered when he was pregnant, the older omegas had fawned over him and kissed him and tried to help him as much as they could. Because of this friendship, Timothée was separated from them by his owner. He was not certain of what the relationship was. 

After the meeting, Armie walked Timothée back to his chambers. “You met Alicia, I see,” Armie said. “A charming young woman, yes?”

“Very,” Timothée nodded. “How old is she?” 

“Only a few years older than you,” Armie said. “During the war, Henry helped saved prisoners, and Alicia was one of them. They began a romance a few years ago, and now Alicia is about to birth their second child.” 

Timothée nodded. “And they are happy together?” He asked. 

Armie grimaced. “Henry had to do a lot of things during the war,” he said. “Kill many people, things of that nature. He thought himself a monster for years, and he withdrew from meetings, even from me. Alicia helped him realize that he did what he was told and that he was no monster, and he has never been more grateful for anybody. Their love is true, and I could never imagine them splitting up.” 

“Henry flirted with me…” Timothée mumbled. 

“Yes,” Armie began. “When omegas are pregnant, they… Are very unwilling. Alicia has given Henry permission to find pleasure outside of her. It is a very progressive marriage, and I am proud of them.” 

“I never experienced that,” Timothée said. “Although, I was never allowed to interact with people.” 

Armie grabbed Timothée’s wrist and forced him to stop walking, and Armie looked down at Timothée with a new emotion in his eyes. “What all happened to you when you were with child?” He asked. His eyebrows were creased, his neck turning red. Anger, with a dash of worry. 

Timothée bit his tongue. “Must I speak of it now?” He mumbled. 

“I would like to know now,” Armie said. 

Timothée sighed. “When I found out that I was with child,” he began softly. “I was very happy, even though I knew the implications of being owned and being so young. The other omegas comforted me when I was in pain, and they helped me keep my secret. Then, my owner— the alpha who had gotten me pregnant— found out. He said that he could smell it on me. Apparently, when you are with an alpha child, there is a scent. He beat me until I could not breathe when he found out, and he isolated me from my friends in the cellar. He… He would not let me eat until I was begging and shaking. He made me do chores that his maids would have done; scrubbing the floor, mostly. Towards the end of it, I could not stand up on my own, and he would kick me. I was so afraid that he would injure my baby, and I would cry at night because I just wanted to die. When Madeline— my daughter— was born, I weighed less than I do now, and I… I lost a lot of blood. I was alone in the cellar in the dead of night, and I had nobody to help me or comfort me. I had to do it alone. I pulled her from my body with my own hands, and I cut the cord with a jagged edge of my shackles. She was crying and crying, so loud that I thought my owner could come down for sure, and I tried to feed her, but she kept crying. I just held her and cried with her. Finally, in the morning, my owner came down and saw the blood and all, and he told me to feed her. He wanted to watch. She took to my nipple, but I could not feed her. I was thirty pounds lighter and barely ate enough to sustain myself, so it was far from a surprise. It still hurt.” 

He cut himself off very suddenly, and Armie knew why. The death. It had to be traumatizing for anybody to speak of a starving newborn, but the mother who had already suffered other trauma was the absolute worst person to speak of those things. “You do not have to finish,” Armie whispered. “I wish I had known all of that before.” 

“What?” Timothée asked. “That I was abused and with child and…? Would you send me back to the slave pit?” 

“Never,” Armie said quickly. “No, you are staying here. Go up to the chambers and nap, you will feel better after. Someone will come wake you before lunch.” 

Timothée hesitated. He looked down the hallway, darkened by the lack of sunlight, lit by just candles, and he nodded. “Will you walk with me, alpha?” 

It had been one day. Armie could not relax the rules so quickly. He wished that he could hear Timothée say his name, but he needed to learn the rules before breaking them. Timothée had said his name before in the depths of pleasure, when he had forgotten the rules and could only remember his name, but he wanted to hear it then. “I cannot,” Armie said softly. “I am sorry.” He looked around the hallway, making sure there was nobody there to see them, and he leaned down and softly kissed Timothée. The younger immediately melted into the alpha’s body, kissing him back, and he never wanted the kiss to end. 

Eventually, though, Armie pulled away, and he brushed his fingers along Timothée’s jaw. “Go sleep,” he said. “I will personally come to wake you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2k?? wow thank you!   
> I realize that a lot of you are new to me (and maybe you don't care idk) but my name is hal! i'm a 16 year old guy that just loves to write kinky smut, and I'm astounded that my silly little story has gained this much attention so quickly (which 2k isn't really that much but in a week and a half?? wild)   
> so thank you!!

Time passed. The day-to-day schedule did not differ: Armie and Timothée woke up before the sun, and Armie started the day by breeding Timothée. As he knotted him, Armie would rub Timothée’s body and kiss him and gently tell him how beautiful he was and what a good mother he would be. Next, breakfast, then Timothée would take solace in the large library while Armie went to meetings. Timothée knew that something big was happening with the kingdom, because Armie had endless meetings, but he never inquired as to what. 

Armie and Timothée would take lunch together, then more meetings for Armie. In the afternoons, the meetings were with townspeople, voicing their opinions on certain laws that had been passed or praising the king for others. Timothée would sometimes venture outside if the weather permitted, and he had happened across a garden covered in snow. None of the flowers had bloomed, but Timothée smiled at the thought. Beautiful flowers would grace the palace in the spring. Dinner was served as the sun went down, and the day ended with bathing and bed. 

Some days, if the King had enough energy, Timothée could convince him to breed again, and the relief of knotting helped them both fall asleep. On the nights that did not happen, though, Armie was awake at all hours, pacing the room or trying to read or simply watching Timothée sleep. The younger looked so serene as he slept, unbothered and innocent. His eyebrows were not furrowed, he had no scowl or frown, and his curls were still damp from his bath, flopping around his face and pillow as he tossed and turned. Some nights, Timothée was a terrible sleeper, waking up with panic from a nightmare; when he did sleep, it was restless, him sometimes saying things as he slept. Hearing that made Armie’s heart hurt, because Timothée was always begging for something to stop. The nights that Timothée awoke, crying and screaming, Armie would make him tea or hot cocoa and rub his back as the boy sniffled. 

Weeks passed without incidents other than the nightmares. Timothée had grown increasingly vigilant about the signs of children: his appetite increasing or pains in his back. He wanted to know the very moment he became pregnant, and he wanted to report it to his alpha as soon as he knew. He knew how desperately Armie wanted a child, so he vowed to alert him as soon as possible. 

Timothée examined himself in the glass window. It was the eve of the anniversary, one month since he arrived at the palace. He looked down at his body and smoothed his hand down his stomach. He looked exactly the same— no bump or anything of the sort. Entirely not pregnant. Twice a day, every day, for a month. He figured that the odds would be on his side, especially since he had been in heat for the first week there. He had settled down in the past weeks, but he was still willing whenever Armie was. That was the important part: he was willing. He was not being forced or threatened. Armie had started to make sure that Timothée was comfortable with him and everything that he did. Once they were able to establish the comfort, then their animal instincts could take over and be hard and forceful. On more than one occasion, Timothée had not been able to get out of bed because he was so sore. The old bruises from abuse were fading into bruises of love: bites on his neck and lovemarks on his stomach. All of the bruises now were made good-naturedly, and, whenever Armie would do something that seemed to give Timothée pain, he would apologize profusely. 

Now that the relationship of alpha-omega was established, Armie had been more lenient. Timothée had learned the rules and never broke them, staying quiet in the presence of others, not speaking unless spoken to, staying with his alpha at all times, et cetera. They could tease each other a bit now; Timothée teased Armie about the large birthmark on his shoulder, but soothed his words with a kiss to the mentioned birthmark. 

“Taken to vanity?” Armie asked, and Timothée turned. He was in the library, looking at one of the large windows. It was no longer snowing, but slush stuck to the ground, and it was far too cold to venture out without layers of warm clothing. Timothée bowed, the way he had been taught to when his alpha entered the room, and Armie clicked his tongue. “Stand up, little thing. That is ridiculous.” 

Timothée raised his eyes to Armie. He wore black that day, the velvet shining almost blue under the candlelight, and it brought out the golden hue of his skin. Armie was attractive, and Timothée noticed more things every day that bolstered the idea: little freckles on his face, the way his hair curled delicately behind his ears, the sharp canine teeth. Timothée wondered if the sharp teeth were an effect of his status of alpha. 

“What were you doing?” Armie asked. He placed a hand on Timothée’s waist, and he hiked Timothée’s shirt back up, the way Timothée had had it moments previous. “Looking at your body?” 

“Yes,” Timothée said. Armie kneeled down in front of Timothée, and the boy jumped back. “Your Majesty! You should never kneel for another man!” 

“Far too late, darling,” Armie said quickly. “Come back. Let me kiss you.” 

Timothée reached his hands out and placed them on Armie’s shoulders, and Armie tugged him closer so that his bearded jaw nuzzled against Timothée’s smooth stomach. He kissed it softly and gently licked the skin, and Timothée chuckled. “You taste amazing,” Armie whispered. After a moment, he added, “Is that alright?” 

“Is what alright?” Timothée asked. 

“If I call you ‘darling’,” Armie said. “You did not seem opposed to it.” 

“I am not,” Timothée said. “I enjoy the adoration.” 

“Good,” Armie said, and he kissed Timothée’s soft stomach.

Timothée threaded his fingers in the small hairs at the nape of Armie’s neck. He smoothed his palms up to hold Armie’s head, and he gently pulled Armie’s head up to look at him. “Thank you,” He said softly. “Nobody has ever been this kind to me. Even though you are my owner, I—”

“No!” Armie exclaimed, and Timothée jumped back. “I am sorry for frightening you, but I am not your owner. I never exchanged money for you, I never did anything close to ‘buying’ you. I am not your owner.” 

“Oh,” Timothée said softly. “You are still extraordinarily kind to me. It is rather uncalled for.” 

“Uncalled for? How?” Armie asked. 

Timothée sighed. “I am just an omega. A _male_ omega, at that. Nobody should care about me.” 

Armie pulled Timothée back to him, and he kissed his stomach again. He gently pushed his fingertip into the flesh, and he said, “One day, that belly will be home to my child. Maybe then you will see why I care so much.” 

“Because I will give you a child?” Timothée asked. 

“No,” Armie said. “Because you will give _me_ a child.” 

“I do not understand how those two are different,” Timothee mumbled. 

“You are willing to go through months of pain and uncomfortableness to give me a child,” Armie said. “Becoming a mother is such a selfless act. You could have damned me and refused, but you stayed.” 

Timothée nodded. “Anything for you, Your Majesty,” He said. 

Armie laid one last kiss on Timothées stomach before standing up, and he asked, “What are you reading?” 

“Pardon?” Timothée asked. 

“You are in the library,” Armie said. “It is natural to assume you are reading.” 

Timothée glanced around the room, and tears pricked at his eyes. “I was not reading,” he said softly. “I was looking at the snow.” 

Armie smiled and he kissed the top of Timothée’s curls. “It is beautiful out,” he said. “Would you like to go outside?” 

“You have a meeting,” Timothée said gently. “With townspeople.” 

“I can be a few minutes late,” Armie said with a shrug. “The townspeople will have to forgive me. And I think that they will.” 

“I am alright,” Timothée said. “It is too cold out.” 

“I will hold you,” Armie said and wrapped his arms around Timothée’s waist from behind him and placed his chin on Timothée’s shoulder. “I will give you my coat, if you need it.” 

“No, it is okay,” Timothée smiled. He looked down at Armie’s hands, pressed flat to his stomach, and he turned his head to see Armie. “You will be a great father.” 

“Thank you,” Armie said. “You will be a great mother.” 

“Thank you,” Timothée replied. “Now, you, mister, have to go to a meeting.” 

“Must I?” Armie grumbled. 

“You are the King,” Timothée said. “You must.” 

“Damn,” Armie mumbled. “Fine. I will see you at dinner.” 

Timothée grabbed Armie’s wrist before he could leave and pulled him back to kiss him. Armie kissed back with more intensity than Timothée gave him, and Timothée gasped. He kissed back once the surprise disappeared, and Armie gave him a playful growl that made Timothée laugh. “Go to your meeting,” Timothée said when they parted. “Make the kingdom better.” 

“It will be better when I can hold my son,” Armie said and kissed Timothée’s forehead. “The moment you are aware that you are with child—” 

“I know,” Timothée nodded. “Tell you.” 

“Yes,” Armie said. “Farewell.” He kissed Timothée’s forehead once more, then left the library. Timothée stood by the window, the faint buzz of contact under his skin, and he walked to one of the bookcases. He ran his fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the leather and gold foil lettering, and he took a deep breath to get the smell of ink and paper. He loved libraries, the smell and feel of them, and he pulled out a random book. He stared down at the cover, trying for the hundredth time to identify it, but the symbols on the cover were foreign. Timothée was seven when he was sold, and his parents had not taught him how to read, and he never went to school. Nobody had ever taught him how to read, so he did not know how to. He was ashamed that he did not know, but he felt as if he could not ask Armie or anybody for help. It was an embarrassing secret. 

“I have never seen you here before,” a man said behind Timothée, and the younger turned to see a man not much older than him with blond hair flopping over blue eyes and a dark colored jacket on. His eyes were soft and kind, and his mouth curled into a friendly smile. “Were you just hired?” 

“No,” Timothée said. “I was brought here last month.” 

“Brought here?” The man asked. “On whose invitation?” 

“His Majesty’s,” Timothée said. 

The man’s smile turned down at the corners. “You are his omega,” he said. “You were brought here from the slave pit.” 

“Yes,” Timothée nodded. “Why do you say that negatively?” 

“Not negatively,” the man said. “It is such a shame that the bastard that is our king gets to have you. You are too beautiful to suffer under his terrible rule.” 

“It is not suffering,” Timothée said. He slotted the book back onto the case, and he turned fully towards the man. “His Majesty adores me, and I him.” 

The man gave a little “Hmm”, and he said, “Pardon me, I never introduced myself. Leonardo; I was hired as affairs advisor while Mistress Vikander is out with her child.” 

“Alicia had her baby?” Timothée gasped. “Oh goodness, I must see her!” 

“Friends with her?” Leonardo asked. 

“Yes,” Timothée nodded. “She was one of my first friends here.” 

“It is always nice to find people that you have things in common with,” Leonardo said. “That is why I was drawn to you.” 

“And what do we have in common?” Timothée asked. 

“You retrieved a book of my favorite philosopher,” Leonardo said, and reached past Timothée to get the book he had returned to the shelf. “Heraclitus. He is very intelligent, with his river.” 

Timothée swallowed thickly. “Yes, I agree,” he said. “The concept is… Is very deep, but I understood it and completely agree with him.” 

“I knew you were a smart one,” Leonardo said. He slotted the book back, and grasped Timothée’s hand. “Will you join me for dinner tonight?” 

Timothée slowly removed his hand. “I am afraid I cannot do that,” he said. He turned back to the books and added, “I promised myself to the king.” 

“He does not have to know,” Leonardo said. “It can be our little secret. Hmm?” 

“No, thank you,” Timothée said. “Really, I am committed to His Majesty.” 

“Committed?” Leonardo asked. “By marriage?” 

“Not yet,” Timothée said highly. “But it will come as soon as I am with child.” 

“You are not pregnant yet?” Leonardo asked. “It has been a month. How is that possible?” 

Timothée sighed. “You know as much as I,” he said. 

“He _does_ knot you, correct?” 

“He knows how to conceive a child,” Timothée snapped. “As do I. Things like this take time. You can leave now.” 

“You know, do you?” Leonardo mused, and he came up behind Timothée. He placed his hands on the shelves, trapping Timothée against his body, and he whispered, “You have been pregnant before?” 

“Leave me alone,” Timothée said softly. 

“I can tell,” Leonardo said and looked over Timothée’s body. “I can see the marks on your stomach and chest. Where is your child now? Living with Papa?” 

Timothée took a deep breath and whimpered, “Please leave me alone.” 

“I understand,” Leonardo said slowly. The distant sound of a slamming door echoed through the library, and Leonardo smoothly stepped away from Timothée. “Too weak to keep your child alive.” 

Timothée pressed his hand to his mouth and he watched Armie enter the room again. “Ah, Leo!” He exclaimed. “I was just looking for you!” 

“Here I am,” Leonardo said with a smile. “I was just speaking to your omega about how abysmal the slave trade is.” 

“Yes,” Armie sighed. “I am working on banning it.” He wrapped an arm around Timothée and kissed the top of his head, but he did not take notice of the tears. “Timothée, this is Leonardo—”

“Your Majesty,” he mumbled. 

“Leo,” Armie amended. “He is filling in for Alicia.” 

“So I have been told,” Timothée mumbled. “Alpha, may I speak to you—” 

“The meetings has already started, no?” Leo asked, glancing around the library. He found a clock on the wall, ticking away at half one, and he added, “We should go.” 

“Yes,” Armie said. He leaned down and kissed Timothée’s lips, and he gave him a soft caress on his back. “I will be back soon, darling.” 

Timothée nodded, and Armie began to walk away, but he stopped suddenly. He tugged Timothée back to him and looked at his face, and horror struck his face. “Why are you crying?” He asked quickly. “What is wrong?” 

Timothée sniffled. “N-Nothing,” he whispered. “J-Just missing home.” 

Armie cooed softly and hugged Timothée tightly. “I will find a way to get you home,” he whispered. “Do you want to come to the meeting with me? Just sit with me and try to calm down?” 

Timothée looked over Armie’s shoulder to Leo, and he shook his head quickly. “I do not want to interrupt your meeting,” he said softly. “I will be okay.” 

“Are you sure?” Armie asked. 

“Yes, alpha, I am sure,” Timothée whispered. 

Armie studied his face, and he pressed his face into Timothée’s neck. He took a deep breath, getting his omega's scent, and he could smell the fear in him. Was he afraid of Leo? Suddenly, Armie exclaimed and clutched Timothée tighter, and he cried, “Did your legs just give out?” 

“Alpha—”

“You look exhausted,” Armie said quickly. “You barely slept last night, this is not a surprise. Let us get you to bed. What did you eat today?” He continued to fuss over Timothée as he guided him out of the library with a firm hand on the back of his neck. Timothée knew that he was in trouble; Leo had been so close to him that his scent had to have gotten on him. 

“Alpha, please,” he started. “I did not—”

“Why were you scared?” Armie asked. Their shoes clicked against the stone floor as they ascended the stairs. “You were scenting so strongly with fear. Did I say something?” 

“You said nothing,” Timothée mumbled. “It was him.” 

“‘Him’ who?” Armie asked. “Leo?” 

Timothée nodded meekly. 

Anger flared in Armie’s eyes. “What did he say?” He asked. “If he touched you or hurt you, I swear, I will—” 

“Armie!” Timothée cried and gasped. He was not allowed to say the king’s name. “He did not hurt me,” he whispered quickly. “Just scared me. I apologize, Your Majesty, I forgot myself.” 

Armie looked at the trembling omega, his eyes brimming with tears, and he felt anger well up in his stomach. Timothée knew the rules, he knew not to say Armie’s name, but, somehow, Armie liked it. He secured an arm around the small boy and lifted him into his arms, and he whispered, “I think somebody needs his alpha right now.” 

Timothée hiccuped and buried his face in Armie’s chest as he sobbed. “I am so sorry,” he cried, and Armie shushed him. 

“Sorry for what?” He asked. 

“Saying your name,” Timothée mumbled. “Making you late to your meeting.” 

“If it concerns my omega, the world can wait,” Armie said. He pushed the door to his chambers open and approached the plush bed, and he carefully set Timothée down. “Let us get under the blankets and I will hold you until you feel better.” 

Timothée sniffled. “Really?” He whispered. 

“Yes,” Armie said. “I will even take off my jacket.” 

Timothée gasped and reached out for Armie, and Armie went about undoing the buttons quickly. He discarded his silk jacket on the wooden floor and climbed into bed, and Timothée curled up in his arms. He was shaking still, and Armie rubbed his back and shushed him comfortingly. 

“Alpha,” Timothée whined after a few minutes of this. Armie could sense that Timothée wanted to be close in a different way, and just the thought of helping his omega like that was enough to make him agree without even hearing the offer. He undid his pants, then did the same to Timothée’s, and he pushed their clothes to the door of the bed. Timothée let out a gentle mewl as Armie’s warm hands enveloped his chest and slid down to his belly, and Armie kissed his shoulder as he pushed his burning length into Timothée. Timothée gave a soft gasp and bit his bottom lip, and he reached around behind him to grasp Armie’s hair. “Alpha,” He whimpered as Armie slid fully into him. The feeling of being filled was enough to comfort Timothée, and now he wanted the knot. 

“Hush, little thing,” Armie whispered. “Let me take care of you. And—”

Timothée winced in anticipation of a punishment. 

“Never call me ‘alpha' ever again,” Armie said. “My name is Armie. You have earned this.” 

Timothée nodded quickly, and he pushed back against Armie to get closer to him. Armie held him and thrusted shallowly, just enough to give Timothée the pleasure to keep him sated, and Armie breathed in his scent deeply. It was an animal smell, the smell of an omega, but he also smelled of Armie’s mother’s flowers. He had never encountered this scent before in an omega. He loved it. 

Armie chuckled slightly when he noticed that Timothée had fallen asleep. He was not offended; his omega was so comfortable and felt so safe that he trusted Armie. Armie tugged Timothée closer, as if every inch of their bodies were not already touching, and he quickly fell asleep with the smell of flowers in his nose.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to [Peachyelio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peachyelio/pseuds/Peachyelio) for making me a playlist for this story! you have helped me with this entire story and you deserve as much credit as i do for it. love you, bunny!  
> playlist is in the end note!  
> also, this is an early upload bc i can't wait

“Hello, darling,” Armie greeted Timothée with a kiss. “How are you?” 

Timothée laughed. “You saw me but only a few hours ago,” he said. “Are you that attached already, Your Majesty?” 

Armie smiled and wrapped his arms around Timothée’s shoulders and kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, a reminder of the intimacy they had shared the night before. Armie had woken up still inside Timothée, and he slowly pulled out of him, much to the sleeping boy’s dismay. Timothée wriggled himself closer into Armie’s body, seeking out the heat in the cold night, and Armie kissed his back and rubbed his stomach all night. He had no idea why he was compelled to adore Timothée's belly, but he thought that maybe he was laying some paternal blessing on his womb in an effort to aid in the conception of his child. The scent of flowers remained, even now, hours after the affair, and Armie burrowed his nose in Timothée’s curls. “You smell delicious,” he whispered. “New soap?” 

“No,” Timothée said. “Maybe you are smelling yourself.” 

Armie chuckled and kissed Timothée's head. “Would you like to go visit Alicia?” He asked. “I know you wanted to.” 

“Oh, yes!” Timothée exclaimed. “I would love to see her!” 

Armie smiled at the excitement, and he said, “We will go tonight. I am sure she will be very happy to see you.” 

“Actually,” Timothée began. “I would like to go alone. You can have drinks with Henry tonight. I know that being with me every night must be wrecking your relationship.” 

“Nonsense,” Armie said. “Henry understands having an omega. But, if you wish to speak to Alicia alone, I will grant you that.” 

“Thank you,” Timothée said with a smile, and he kissed Armie quickly. 

Armie wrapped his arms around him tighter and kissed his cheek, and he said, “What shall you call me?” 

“Pardon?” Timothée asked. 

“I call you darling,” Armie said. “What shall you call me?” 

“Umm…” Timothée began. “I do not know. Should I call you anything? Your name will suffice, I think.” 

“That sounds fine,” Armie said. The clock chimed in the distance, signaling the top of the hour, and Armie sighed. “Another day, another meeting.” 

“You will be fine,” Timothée smiled. “Must I walk you to the meeting like a child?” 

“No,” Armie mumbled in fake dejection. He kissed Timothée once more, then squeezed his hand and began on his way. “Farewell, darling!” 

Timothée smiled as he watched Armie leave, and he turned and began down the hallway to Henry and Alicia's chambers. He had been excited all morning about seeing Alicia and the baby, but he had waited and controlled himself until he was sure that Alicia had had time to get ready and do all of her private duties. 

He descended the stairs and, the moment he stepped onto the floor, he heard the sounds of a baby gurgling and Alicia’s soft whispers. Timothée walked just a bit faster to get to the door, and he softly knocked, so as not to scare the baby. “Come in!” Alicia called, and Timothée slowly pushed his way into the room. 

“Hello, Alicia,” He said softly, and she gasped. 

“Timothée!” Alicia smiled. “Oh, come here, let me hug you!” Timothée approached her chair by the window where she sat, wearing a silk robe with her dark hair pinned away from her face. She looked stunning; the myth of a mother’s glow was true. She hugged him with a surprising strength for having given birth two days before, and she captured his face in his smooth hands. “You look more gorgeous every day I see you,” Alicia said and flashed a smile. 

“Thank you, Lici,” Timothée said. “How are you? And the baby?” 

“I am spectacular,” Alicia said. “Joseph has the baby— Joe! Come here, please!” 

“Joe?” Timothée asked. 

“My oldest,” Alicia said. “He’s three and adores his sister.” 

A small pattering came from a different room of the chambers, and a small boy came toddling in with a bundle of pink blankets in his arms. “Hi, Mommy!” The boy cried and transferred the baby into his mother's arms. Timothée studied the boy— he had his father’s curly ebony hair and his mother’s caramel-toned skin and chocolate eyes. “Mommy, who is this?” 

“This is my friend, Timmy,” Alicia said. “He’s Uncle Armie’s boyfriend.” 

“Hi!” The boy cried. “I’m Joe!” 

Timothée smiled. “Hi, Joe,” he said and crouched down to match the boy’s height. “Why, you look just like your mother. Every bit as beautiful as her, even that little nose.” 

A flush came over Joseph’s cheeks, and he buried his face in his hands. Timothée smiled and stood up, and Alicia laughed softly. “He gets embarrassed when people say he is beautiful,” she said. “He has always been told that.” 

“For good reason,” Timothée said. He looked at the bundle of blankets in Alicia’s arms, and he saw a small fair-skinned baby with a tuft of thin brown hair on her head. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were closed as she whined softly, and Timothée sighed happily. “She is gorgeous, Lici.”

“Thank you,” Alicia replied. “Would you like to hold her?” 

“Oh, goodness, I could not,” Timothée laughed softly. “I do not know how to hold a baby.” 

“It is not difficult,” Alicia said. “You will have to learn, after all. Only a few months away.” 

“I guess I must learn—” Timothée began, then stopped. “A few months? But I am not with child yet.” 

“Are you sure?” Alicia asked. “You have the scent of a pregnant omega: flowers.” 

Timothée’s heart banged against his ribcage. “I cannot be pregnant,” he said quickly. “It has only been a month, I-I cannot—” 

“Oh,” Alicia said softly. “You did not know?” 

“No!” Timothée cried. “I cannot be with child! I simply cannot! I-I—”

“Timmy, calm down,” Alicia said soothingly. “It is not a bad thing.” 

“But I am not strong enough!” Timothée exclaimed. “The first pregnancy nearly killed me! I cannot! Alicia, this is not good!” 

“Okay, settle down,” Alicia said. “Joe, go back to your room. Let Mommy and Timmy talk.” 

Joseph nodded quietly and kissed his mother’s hand, then skipped off back to where he came from. He was such a happy, unencumbered boy, and Timmy only hoped that his son would be the same way. Son— Child— Pregnant. “Alicia, this is terrible,” Timothée said softly and sat down on the floor at her feet. “I am not strong enough to be pregnant again. I am too small, and I am too weak and malnourished, Alicia, I cannot—” 

“Calm down, Timmy,” Alicia said softly. “You will be okay. With Armie’s help, and mine, and Henry’s, you will be safe and healthy and give birth to a happy, healthy baby.” 

“But I am not…” Timothée sighed. “And Armie! What if I lose the baby? He will never forgive me!” 

“Yes, he will,” Alicia calmly said. “Look, Timothée, you do not see it, and that is okay, but he is infatuated with you. You can do no wrong in his eyes. God forbid, if you lose the baby, he will forgive you.” She placed her hand on top of Timothée’s, and the baby gurgled softly. 

Timothée smiled gently at the baby. “What is her name?” 

“Isabelle,” Alicia said. “Her father named her.” 

“It is a gorgeous name,” Timothée whispered. He sighed heavily, and his hand instinctually fell to rest on his stomach. He knew that the baby was not old enough to move yet— at the most, it had been one month since he was conceived— but something comforted Timothée to know that there was, in fact, a child inside of him. “How do I tell Armie?”

_____

“Congratulations, Your Majesty!” 

Armie looked up from his paperwork to see Henry standing before him. A smile graced his mouth, and his eyes were bright. The meeting had ended several hours before, and Armie was stuck in the hall, going over the manuscripts of new laws. He could only imagine what Timothée was doing; Armie knew that he was so late to dinner, and he hoped that Timothée would forgive him.

“On what?” He asked. 

“You know, you sly dog, you!” Henry exclaimed and clapped a hand down on Armie’s shoulder. “Your omega’s having a puppy!” 

Armie shuffled his papers around as he processed what Henry said. “Timothée is not pregnant yet,” he said finally. “It has only been a month.” 

“My wife told me the good news,” Henry protested. “She said that Timothée visited at lunch and he had the scent of a pregnant omega.” 

“I know what a pregnant omega’s scent is, Henry,” Armie chuckled. “And Timothée does not have that scent.” 

“Alicia could have been wrong,” Henry said thoughtfully. “Go talk to Timothée and see.” 

“It will prove nothing,” Armie said with finality. “He is not with child.” 

Henry shrugged. “Just go talk to him,” he said. “After all, you are late to dinner.” 

“I know,” Armie said. “My darling will skin me.” 

He shuffled his papers together and passed them off to an attendant, and he stood up and brushed himself off. He wore a coat of red velvet that day. The Yuletide season was close at hand, and Armie could barely contain his excitement. Timothée had told him that he had never had a proper Christmas before, and Armie could not wait to give Timothée his presents. He had had a wonderful cloak made for him, a soft wool, dyed dark green to match his eyes, lined with fur to keep him warm. It had a small golden buckle at the top, as well as a hood to cover his pretty head. It was an extravagant gift, but Armie would do anything to give Timothée a wonderful Christmas. 

When he approached the dining hall, he did not hear the merry clinking of silverware. Usually, Alicia or Henry joined him and Timothée for dinner, but, as he pushed open the wooden door, the table was not set, all of the chairs were pushed in, and the fire was all but gone. Armie glanced around the dark room and, in the absence of sound, he heard the wind howling outside. 

He left the dining hall and approached the first maid he could find. He could not remember her name, but he was sure that Timothée would know it. “Pardon,” He said, and the young girl gasped. 

“Your Majesty,” she breathed and bowed deeply before him. 

“Please, do not do that,” Armie said and gently rested his hands on her sides. “Where is Timothée?” 

“Mistress Chalamet requested dinner be sent to your bed chambers,” the girl said. “He looked rather upset.” 

Armie nearly asked who Chalamet was, and then he realized that it was his darling’s surname. He had never thought to ask. “Thank you,” Armie told her. “Umm, take the night off. I am sure you have a mother who would be happy to see you on a cold night like this.” 

The girl's eyes sparkled. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said quickly. 

“No need,” Armie said with a cordial smile. “Off you go.” 

He turned quickly and began to scale the stairs. Something was very wrong with Timothée. He loved the socialization of dinner in the hall, and he would never request for it to be private. Armie approached the door to his chambers and found that the door was locked, and he quickly beat his fist on the wood. “Timothée!” He called. “Open the door!” 

There was a loud sniffle, like the boy was leaning against the closed door, and it took a moment before the door creaked open. Timothée stood there in obvious distress, wrapped in one of the velvet blankets from the bed. His face was pale, void for his red cheeks and nose, and his eyelashes were heavy with fat tears. He sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his wrist, and he mumbled, “Your Majesty—” 

“What is wrong?” Armie asked urgently. He moved into the room and closed the door, and he immediately went about lighting candles. The room was dark, no candles lit, and he saw that Timothée was shivering— hence the blanket. “My God, you are freezing yourself in here. Timothée, Henry told me that…” He stopped his work and turned to Timothée, still at the door. He was clutching his stomach and looking down at the floor, and everything clicked in Armie’s head. “You are with child.” 

Timothée sniffled and stumbled over to the bed. He sat down, his whole body weight thumping down, and he cried into his hands. Armie brought a candle to the bedside and sat down next to Timothée, and he pried the boy’s hands away from his face. He buried his face in Timothée’s neck and breathed in deeply, and he smelled the same flowers that he had the night before. He knew that it was not the smell of a pregnant omega, but something was definitely happening to Timothée. “Timmy,” Armie whispered and softly kissed his neck. “Are you…?” 

Timothée sniffled. “Yes,” he whispered. “Alicia said that I was, and I went to a physician to get a second opinion, and…” He sobbed, and he tried to bury his face in Armie’s chest. 

“Why are you upset?” Armie asked. “You are with child, it is a joyous occasion!” 

“No, Armie, it is not!” Timothée whimpered. “I am too weak! I cannot be pregnant again, give birth again! I will die!” 

“Settle down,” Armie said gently. “You are already stronger than before, and you will grow even stronger. The baby will help you grow stronger. You will be okay.” 

“No, I will not,” Timothée whined. “Alpha, I—” 

“What did I tell you?” Armie whispered. “Use my name. Not Your Majesty. Not Alpha.” 

“Armie, I am too scared,” Timothée said slowly. “I… I am afraid that I will… That this will be my last winter.” 

“Trust in me, it will not be,” Armie whispered. He softly kissed Timothée’s forehead, and he laid his hand gently on Timothée’s stomach. “I am proud of you for conceiving. You have no idea how happy this makes me.” 

Timothée sniffled. “You lie,” he mumbled. 

“Never,” Armie said quickly. “Never to you. Never to the mother of my son.” 

Timothée cracked a small smile, and he whispered, “Have you thought of names?” 

“No,” Armie said. “I figured I would let you name him.”

Timothée chuckled. “You promise you are not…” he started. “Angry?” 

“Why would I be angry?” Armie asked. “Darling, you are giving me a son! I am forever grateful for you!” 

“The last man I told about being with child beat me,” Timothée mumbled. “I just assumed—”

“What?” Armie asked. “That any father would be angry? I am not any father, Timmy, I am the father. The father of this child, this beautiful miracle. I could never be angry with you or with him.” 

Timothée wiped his eyes with the pad of his middle finger. He chuckled softly, then said, “I just cannot believe… I am with child again. I am happy, but scared.” 

“Never be scared,” Armie said. “I will protect you.” 

Timothée sighed. “I am sorry for making dinner such an affair,” he mumbled. “I did not feel like seeing others.” 

“I understand that,” Armie said. “You are freezing. Let us get in bed and we can eat. Would you like me to read to you?” 

Timothée froze. “Umm…” he started. As long as they were admitting secrets… “Can you teach me?” 

“How to read?” Armie asked. “Do you not know how?” 

“I was never taught,” Timothée said softly. “Never went to school, and my parents… Father worked most of the time, and Mother did not know how. I never had the chance to learn.” 

Armie kissed Timothée’s cheek, and he said, “I will teach you, and then you can teach our son.” 

Timothée smiled and looked down at his belly, covered by Armie’s large hand. “I cannot believe it,” he whispered. “Our child…” 

Armie tilted Timothée’s face to him and kissed his lips gently. He loved the taste of Timothée’s mouth, especially now that he knew that Timothée was pregnant. He never wanted to let go of Timothée’s hand. He wanted to eternally be with him. “Thank you,” Armie whispered. 

“What for?” Timothée mumbled. 

Armie kissed his bottom lip softly. “For giving me a child,” he said. 

“I have not given him to you yet,” Timothée protested. “He still has nine months until he is born.” 

“Regardless, thank you,” Armie said. He nuzzled his cheek into Timothée’s neck and breathed in his scent; the smell of flowers was even stronger than the night before. “Are you sure that you have not changed soap? Your scent is… Like roses.” 

Timothée blushed deeply. “Alicia told me,” he mumbled. “Umm… It is ridiculous, do not worry about it.” 

“No, no, I am worrying about it,” Armie said. “My lover is with my child, I am forever going to worry about you.” 

“It is just a scent,” Timothée said softly. “Every omega’s scent is different.” 

Armie knew that Timothée was lying, but he also recognized that Timothée did not want to talk about it. Maybe there was something more happening inside Timothée's head, but Armie would not dig too deeply. If Timothée did not want to tell, he did not have to. “I want to hear about it eventually,” Armie said. “Let us have dinner. Would you like it in the dining hall with Henry and Alicia?” 

“Could it be just us?” Timothée asked. “In front of the fire?” 

“Of course,” Armie said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist
> 
> 1: A Winter's Tale - Jeremy Soule  
> 2: The Madam - Jesper Kyd  
> 3: Ricercar - Francesco Canova da Milan  
> 4: The Bannered Mule- Jeremy Soule  
> 5: Earth - Jesper Kyd  
> 6: A Historic Love- Trevor Morris  
> 7: Monsieurs - Daniel Bacheler  
> 8: The White River - Jeremy Soule  
> 9: Christmas Tide - Trevor Morris  
> 10: La Shymyze - Folger Consort  
> 11: A King Reborn - Trevor Morris  
> 12: The Fox and The Farmer- Justin Bell  
> 13: The Musty Scent Of Fresh Pâté- Percival Schutt  
> 14: Jane Washes Her Hair - Trevor Morris  
> 15: Moons of Evening Star - Brad Derrick 


	7. Chapter 7

Armie undressed Timothée and bundled him up in blankets, and he settled the omega by the fire. Timothée had not stopped shivering since Armie had enetered the cold room, and Armie was determined to warm him up. He was gentle with Timothée as he undressed him, making sure to be soft with his pregnant omega, and Timothée smiled at him. Armie smiled back at him and kissed his forehead. 

Timothée pressed himself right up next to Armie, nuzzling his head under the alpha’s chin. He was seeking out his warmth, obviously, but Timothée also wanted the smell of his alpha in his nose. Armie was not his yet, but he was carrying his child, and he knew that Armie would be faithful. Armie was scenting strongly, hormones rushing through him at the revelation of Timothée’s pregnancy, and Timothée loved the scent. Almost like pine trees. 

“Darling,” Armie whispered and rubbed his hand down Timothée’s back. “Lay down, sweet thing.” 

Timothée settled himself down on the wooden floor, pulling the blanket up over his waist. The fire was sending its warmth over his cold chest, and he clenched his teeth together at the feeling of his nipples perking up at the cold temperature. Armie seemed to notice this as well, because he chuckled deep in his throat and lowered his head to Timothée’s chest. He gently licked over one nipple and bit down oh so gently, and Timothée gasped at the feeling. Not pleasure, no; something more. It was too early to tell exactly what, even though Timothée knew. Alicia has told him that, when omegas were pregnant and in love, they smelled of flowers. He was in love. 

Armie slid his hands up Timothée’s sides and cupped his small breasts. They were barely there, just the remnants of an earlier pregnancy and the product of a new pregnancy, but Armie had noticed as he undressed Timothée minutes before that they were more swollen than even earlier that day. “Already making milk?” Armie whispered. 

“I guess,” Timothée mumbled. “I am sorry, I know it is disgusting.” 

“What?” Armie chirped. “It is not! No, Timothée, it is gorgeous. You are healthy enough to make milk. It is a miracle. Does it hurt?” 

“A little sore,” Timothée grumbled. “There is nothing you can do to help.” 

“Yes, there is,” Armie whispered. He pressed his cheek to the middle of Timothée’s chest and let his nose brush his left breast, and he breathed deeply. The heady scent of flowers was still present, and Armie could clearly tell that Timothée needed relief. He pressed his mouth closer and wrapped his lips around the firm red nipple, and he softly began to suckle the milk from his omega. 

Initially, Timothée pressed his hands hard to Armie’s bare chest, intent on pushing him away, but the feeling of relief flooded him. His breasts were so tender and the feeling of his alpha giving him that respite from the uncomfortableness was so wonderful that he just graciously mewled and arched his back to give Armie a better angle. 

Armie drank carefully, taking time to massage his omega’s pained breasts in an attempt to give him some kind of pleasure. Armie was getting no pleasure from this, but he wanted Timothée to enjoy it fully. He wanted Timothée to always be happy, never in pain or anguish. The mother of his son deserved more than scars on his neck and forced obedience. Armie stroked Timothée’s side as he licked up the last remaining drops of sweet milk, and he kissed a line across his bandy chest to the other enlarged nipple. 

“Alpha,” Timothée whispered. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Armie said softly. “I want to.” 

Timothée let out a pathetic whimper and rested his head back to allow his alpha to dominate him. It broke Armie’s heart to see him so compliant, years of servitude having shaped even the most menial actions that Timothée did. “You know,” Armie began quietly. “If you ever want anything from me… Anything at all… Just ask.” 

Timothée sniffled. “You are only saying that because I am with child,” he mumbled. He raised his hand up to his face and covered his mouth with the back of his wrist, and Armie saw the tears glistening on his cheeks. 

“Never,” Armie breathed. “Timothée, I… Good God, I want to take care of you. When I first saw you, chained to that floor and wearing a chastity device and looking so frail and hurt, I wanted to get you out of there and help you. There is a reason I lifted you from the floor and onto the bed, why I always urge you to eat more, why I let you do everything you do: so you trust me to be your alpha. I… I want to claim you, have you wear my collar… Darling, I want you. Every part of you; even the sweet milk that you make for our child. Especially that.” 

Timothée sniffled again. “I thought alphas could only claim their spouse,” he mumbled. “That is the law.” 

“Yes, but…” Armie sighed. “Yes. That is the law that my father made. But I am not my father by any means. My father was cruel and discriminatory, and he abused every omega he had, even my mother. I am not him, so I… I am repealing many laws that he made that talk about alphas and betas being superior to omegas or anything of that sort. There will be no laws about any of that. Soon, I hope that there will not be a slave trade and that omegas will be citizens.” 

“What?” Timothée exclaimed and sat bolt upright. “Really? You are lying!” 

“No,” Armie said calmly. 

“But you—!” Timothée sputtered. “You were so mean to me at the start. Why…?” 

Armie sat back, away from Timothée. “I treated my past omegas with care,” he began. “I have the reputation of being cruel, and I am, but not with my omegas. There are rules, but those were really just for presentation’s sake. Two omegas died, and one could not conceive. My father and brother told me that it was because I was too soft with them, and I was stupid and believed them. I thought that, if I were strict…” 

“Alpha…” Timothée mumbled. “You did not have to—”

“I realize that now,” Armie said. “But there is no issue now. I know that you are faithful and follow rules, so I do not have to be harsh with you.” 

“You never had to,” Timothée protested. 

“I know,” Armie sighed. “Now, lay down and let me take care of you.” 

“Are you sure?” Timothée asked again. “You really do not have to.” 

“Yes, Timmy,” Armie whispered, and Timothée’s heart fluttered against his ribcage. “I want to. I want to make sure that my son has the best milk that can be offered.” 

“It is the only milk that can be offered, so it must be good,” Timothée giggled. 

“And it is,” Armie whispered. He licked Timothée’s nipple gently and gave a gentle suck, and the milk, sweet like nectar, filled his mouth. Timothée let out a breath and clutched Armie’s hair, keeping his mouth on him. It was such a nice relief, even if his breasts were still sore, but at least now they were not full of milk. 

When Armie finished, he kissed up Timothée’s chest to his neck and jaw, and he sucked a large mark under his ear. “You are gorgeous,” Armie whispered and slid his hand up Timothée’s body to grasp his neck. The scars were not as deep as the ones on his wrists, but they were still there; still a reminder of his life. “Every single part of you is perfect.” 

Armie placed firm kisses down Timothée’s body to his stomach, still flat, not yet showing. He pressed his forehead against Timothée’s lower stomach and closed his eyes, and he rubbed his hands protectively on Timothée’s waist. “Hello, there,” Armie whispered. “Do you know who I am?” He hesitated for a second, acting as if he were listening for an answer, and he said, “I am your daddy. I love you so much already, dear son.” 

Timothée looked down at Armie. He was whispering to his stomach and placing gentle kisses on the soft skin, and his hands were continually caressing his hips. Timothée had never in his whole life felt as loved as that. He was so appreciated, and it broke his own heart to have never experienced love like that. “Armie,” he whispered. He smoothed his hand down from Armie’s honey-blond hair and down his face to his chin, and he lifted Armie’s head to look at him. “I love you.” 

The corner of Armie’s mouth tilted up in a smirk, and he kissed Timothée’s stomach again. “I love you too,” Armie whispered. “Would you marry me?” 

Timothée sighed. “Maybe,” he mumbled. “I am very young and… I am just a slave. Can you even marry a slave?” 

“I will wait until the new law passes,” Armie said. “If that takes one hundred years, I will wait until it is legal.” 

“Can we be engaged?” Timothée asked. “And just not marry until the law passes?” 

“Yes,” Armie said. “That is perfectly legal. I do not have ring, but, when I get one, I will give a proper proposal.” 

Timothée smiled gently. “Let me kiss you,” He whispered. 

Armie immediately lifted himself to Timothée’s face and kissed his mouth, one hand coming up to clutch Timothée’s face. The kiss was firm but gentle, completely loving. Armie breathed in deeply through his nose and licked his way into Timothée’s warm mouth, and the omega fell apart. He began to whine and claw at Armie’s biceps, begging for something that he knew Armie would give him. Armie took in the scent of flowers and the sweet musk of his omega's slick, which was now leaking out of him and onto the stone floor. His insides curled up at the scent of him, and a feral growl ripped itself from inside his chest. He needed to protect his omega. He could not let anybody else hurt him, let alone near him. His omega. _His_. Armie broke the kiss and moved his mouth to Timothée’s neck. “Mine,” he growled into the milky skin. “Say it.” 

“Yours,” Timothée whispered. His lips were red from the kiss and were sure to bruise, and a flush enveloped his chest. 

“Louder,” Armie snapped. 

“Yours!” Timothée cried. “All yours, Your Majesty.” 

“All mine,” Armie said in satisfaction and kissed Timothée’s neck softly, and he rolled onto his side and pulled Timothée into his body. He peppered kisses all over Timothée’s skin, and he smiled softly when Timothée began to giggle. “You are beautiful, darling.”

_____

Armie woke up in the morning with his back aching. He had fallen asleep on the floor with Timothée in his arms, covered by the blanket, the fire raging next to them. By now, the fire was out, and a bitter cold had invaded his bones. Armie carefully removed himself from in-between Timothée's legs and lifted the small omega into his arms. Timothée let out a soft whine and nestled his head into Armie’s chest, and Armie gazed adoringly down at him as a lazy smile crossed the sleeping omega's lips. 

Armie settled Timothée into the bed, covering all of the skin that he possibly could to warm up the small boy, and he slowly crossed the room to retrieve his robe. As he did the ties around his waist, he looked over to the bed and saw the omega curled up with Armie’s pillow to his chest. He looked so small against the large bed; almost fragile. Armie admired the frizzy curls of the mother of his son, protruding almost a full two inches from his head, the chocolate curls contrasting his snow-white skin. Armie loved the way Timothée looked in the morning— his hair was a mess, he had a sleepy flush on his cheeks, his eyes were hooded, and his lips were puffy and bright red. He was absolutely gorgeous. Armie approached the bed and reached out for Timothée’s dainty hand, and his thin fingers wrapped around Armie’s hand. “Sir…?” He mumbled sleepily, 

Armie’s heart fluttered. Usually, he would have loved to hear the title, but it just hurt him. He hated that he had more power than Timothée, and that he was legally more important just because of how he was born. “Hello,” Armie whispered. “Would you like me to leave?” 

“No,” Timothée groaned. He sniffed and started to roll onto his stomach, and rested his hand on top of his belly. Armie knew what was running through his head. The baby. Sleeping positions would change, eating habits would change. His body would contort itself to allow such a fragile creature to grow another human. Everything would change. Hormones would soon be racing through Timothée at all times, making him sensitive and probably short with Armie most of the time. Armie knew that, the further along he became, the more heavily he would scent, and he knew that he had to protect his omega and his son. 

“Are you going to be ill?” Armie asked softly. He kneeled down next to the bed to be level with Timothée, and he smoothed the wily curls out of his olive eyes. 

“No,” Timothée mumbled. “I just want to sleep.” 

“Go back to sleep, darling,” Armie said gently and brushed his hair behind his ear. “You deserve it.” 

“I do not deserve anything,” Timothée said. He focused his eyes on Armie, and his hand became tighter. “Did you lie?” 

“When?” Armie asked. 

“Last night,” he began. “When you told me that you were changing slave laws, and wanting to be married, and… Was it a lie?” 

“No,” Armie said quickly. “It is truth. I have always abhored the slave trade, and it was one of the first things on my list of laws to get rid of. Ten years have passed and… Finally, I can do it.” 

Timothée looked down at their intwined hands, and he smoothed his thumb down the back of Armie’s hand. “I think I would like to go into town today,” he said. “And see the kingdom. I have lived in Borovia for years, but I have never been able to leave the estate I was bound to.” 

“Of course,” Armie said. “I will give you a cloak of mine to wear.” 

“Thank you,” Timothée said. “You treat me too well.” 

“You are my son’s mother,” Armie smiled. “I am forever indebted to you.” 

The flush filled Timothée’s cheeks, and he bit his bottom lip. “Will you tell your son good morning?” He asked. 

Armie quickly threw back the covers to expose Timothée’s stomach, and he leaned over and kissed his belly. “Good morning, dearest prince,” he said. “Do not give your mother any pain, do you hear me?” 

“He is not old enough to pain me yet,” Timothée smiled. 

Armie sighed playfully. “This is only a warning, prince,” he said. “Do not pain your mother, ever.” He nipped at his belly, and Timothée smiled. 

Armie helped Timothée out of bed, even though no help was needed, and he assisted Timothée in getting dressed. He helped Timothée into the white shirt and began to help him into his pants, but Timothée stopped him. "Could I…?" He began. "Wear a skirt?" 

Armie chuckled. "If you wish," he said. "Let me fetch one for you." 

A few minutes later, Armie returned with a wool skirt, emerald green. It brushed the floor as Timothée stood, and Armie kissed his stomach as he fastened the buttons at his waist. He helped Timothée into his shoes, kissing his toes as he went, and Timothée smiled. "What a good father," he mumbled and ruffled Armie's hair. 

"What a good mother," Armie whispered. He kissed Timothée's belly once more, then stood up and smoothed down Timothée's shirt. He crossed the room and retrieved a cloak, dark black with silver buckles and a large hood, and he draped it over Timothée's shoulders. "I will join you in the village when I can. Be safe, darling." 

"I will," Timothée said softly. "When I get back, we can do whatever you want."

Armie kissed his cheek. "You must be fitted for a ring," he said and took his hand. "Maybe a crown, as well." 

"A crown?" 

"If we are married, you would become queen," Armie said. "A queen requires a crown." 

Timothée sucked in a deep breath and nodded slowly. Queen. He would be queen. "Farewell, Your Majesty," He said and kissed Armie's chin. He had a lot to think about on his journey to the village.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! so, in america, next week is thanksgiving, so i will not update next week. sorry for the cliffhanger!

The air was cold against Timothée's face as he slowly wandered through the village. Snow stuck to the ground, but the sun was shining thought its prison of cloud. Timothée had the hood of the cloak pulled over his head to hide his thick curls, and he reveled in the smell of his alpha that was imbedded in the cloak’s woolen fibers. 

A day had passed since finding out that he was with child, and Timothée still had a hard time believing that the king had conceived a child with him. In a few months, there would be a new addition to the royal family. Two, in actuality; when they married, Timothée would become queen. He would be queen, his husband would the king, and his son, his dear son, would be the prince of Borovia. Timothée’s hands drifted down to his belly at the thought of the baby, and he tried to imagine what the child would look like. Would he have his father's light hair, wavy and flowing, or his mother's dark curls? His father’s eyes, the color of cornflowers, or his mother's, brown with golden sunflowers? No matter his looks, Timothée knew that Armie would adore him. 

Suddenly, something tugged at the back of Timothées skirt, and a small voice called out, “Mama!” 

Timothée turned and saw a little boy of three years old holding onto his skirt, downy blond hair and sharp green eyes. He smiled and kneeled down in front of the boy, and he said, “I am not your mother, but I would be glad to help you find her.” 

“You smell like Mama,” the boy said and popped his thumb into his mouth. 

“I am a mother myself,” Timothée said softly. “Is your mother an omega?” 

The boy nodded.

“My name is Timothée,” he said. “What is yours?” 

“Aldwin,” the boy mumbled. “Mama calls me Aldy.” 

“Alright, Aldy,” Timothée said. “What does your mother look like?” 

“Me,” Aldy said around his thumb. 

Timothée nodded. Blonde hair and striking eyes. He slotted his hands under the boy’s arms and lifted him up onto his hip, and Aldy nuzzled his face into Timothée’s chest. “What is your baby’s name?” He asked. 

“My alpha and I have not decided,” Timothée said. “Did your mother pick your name?” 

Aldy nodded. “You smell like the king.” 

Timothée chuckled. “There is a good reason,” he said. “My alpha is the king. I will become queen soon.” The snow crunched under his shoes as he walked, and he pointed out blonde women to Aldy in hopes of him recognizing his mother. Timothée figured that his mother would also be wearing a green skirt and black cloak, so he watched out for that as well. 

“Mama!” Aldy cried, and he began to kick his legs. He squirmed in Timothée’s arms and Tiimothée quickly put him down, and the little boy ran to a woman coming out of a brick building. She wore green and black, shiny blonde hair pulled out her face, her cheeks rosy with the cold, and her blue eyes rimmed with tears. Blue eyes. Not green, like her son’s. 

“Aldwin!” she said with a smile and enveloped the tiny boy in her arms. “Oh goodness, child, I thought you were gone forever! Who helped you?” 

“The Queen!” Aldy exclaimed. 

“The Queen?” The woman said. “We do not have a queen, silly boy.” 

“Ma’am, if I may,” Timothée began, and the woman looked to him. 

“You are His Majesty’s omega,” the woman gasped. “Timothée, correct?” 

Timothée let out a laugh, and his breath became mist in the air. “I am, yes,” he said. “How did you recognize me?” 

“The village was told when His Majesty aquirred a new omega,” she told him. “We were told all about you: your looks, your stature. You look more attractive than described.” 

Timothée smiled. “Thank you,” He said softly. “I am not the queen yet, though. We must be married first.” 

“I wish you good luck,” she said. She straightened up and pulled Aldy onto her back, and his scrawny arms locked around her neck. “My name is Saoirse, Your Highness.” 

“Oh, good God, please do not call me that,” Timothée laughed. “I am not worthy of that title. I am just a male omega.”

“Male omegas should be recognized more,” Saoirse said. “You are an intregal part of our society.” 

“Thank you,” Timothée said with a smile. “I am sure you have business to attend to, so I will leave you be.” 

“I do not, but thank you, Your Highness,” Saoirse said. 

“If you ever wish to speak again, come to the palace,” Timothée offered. “In a few months, your son will have a royal playmate.” 

“Are you with child?” Saoirse asked, her eyebrows raising. 

“I found out yesterday,” Timothée said. “Only His Majesty’s closest council knows.” 

“Let me be the first commoner to tell you congratulations,” Saoirse said with a smile. “Aldy, tell His Highness congratulations.” 

“Congratulation!” Aldy cried and clutched his mother tightly. 

Timothée laughed. “Thank you, Aldwin,” he said. “You both are welcome at the palace at any time.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Saoirse said. “Farewell.” 

Timothée watched the mother and child begin down the street, and his hand rested on his belly. Aldwin was such a sweetheart, and Timothée could not wait until he had his own. 

He started down the street, listening to the snow crackling in the sunlight, and he looked around. Snow was piled up next to the buildings, covering bushes and carts, and he watched businessmen furiously wiping down their storefronts to exhibit their wares. Timothée glanced at each store, trying to find something, anything, to give his alpha for Christmas. He knew that Armie would protest a present and he would claim that Timothée was giving him the best gift he could ever have, but Timothée wanted to give him something. 

Then, Timothée saw a shop with gorgeous jewels in the window, displayed in such a way that light caught the diamonds and made them sparkle. He pulled his cloak tight around himself, and entered the shop.

_____

“His Royal Highness, Timothée!” 

Armie stood up from his throne as Timothée entered the grand hall. His skirt rustled as he walked quickly to Armie, and Armie admired the pink flush in his cheeks and nose. He was smiling the widest smile that Armie had ever seen grace his plump lips, and the king chuckled. “Hello there, gorgeous,” Armie said, and opened his embrace for his mistress. 

Timothée immediately nestled himself into Armie’s warmth and took a deep breath from his neck, and Armie jumped as his cold nose touched his skin. “Why, that nose will freeze off!” Armie exclaimed and hugged Timothée tighter. He pressed his face to Timothée’s and jokingly bit the tip of his nose, and his heart filled at the giggle that spilled from his mistress’s mouth. “Come, sit with me. Viktor, come fetch Timothée’s cloak.” 

Timothée froze when he saw the man approaching. He was the same man from the first day that fondled him mocked him. Viktor. “Who is that?” Timothée mumbled. 

“My brother,” Armie said softly. “He is not usually as vile as he was when you two met. He was in a rut.” 

“The royal alpha brothers,” Timothee murmured. He undid the fastener of the cloak that was tucked under his chin, and he carefully folded it up and transferred it to Victor’s arms. “Thank you, Viktor.” 

It was obvious that the two were brothers. Tall and thin, although Armie had more muscle definition, and dark hair that always seemed windswept, even in the confines of the palace. His eyes were the same as Arnie's, a clear blue. There were differences, though; he had a rounder nose and darker freckles, and the smile lines around his mouth were deeper than Armie’s. “Your Highness, I feel I must apologize for my actions,” he said; same voice as well. “It was brutish of me to come onto you in that way, and seeing how happy you make my brother, it makes me guilty that I treated you that way.” 

Timothée tilted his head and smiled gently. “You are forgiven, Viktor,” he said softly. “Also—” he quickly turned back to Armie, his hair bouncing around his face, and he pressed his fingers into Armie’s chest. “What is this ‘Your Highness' business?” 

“You are soon to be a member of the royal family,” Armie said. “You deserve such a title.”

“So, you told the whole kingdom to call me that?” Timothée asked. “I feel as if I should have a bit of say in that. What if I do not want that?” 

“Do you think I like being called ‘Your Majesty' everyday?” Armie asked with a chuckle. “You will be royalty, you must become accustomed to that.” 

“It does not mean that I like it,” Timothée mumbled. 

Armie’s eyebrows furrowed, and he gently nudged Timothée’s hair away from his ears. “Your ears are pierced,” he said. “Did you do that today?” 

“No,” Timothée said. “I had it done when I was young, because it made me look more… Desirable, I suppose. But I never had nice enough jewelry to wear, then I saw this shop, and I…” He trailed off. He looked up to his alpha through his thick eyelashes, and he mumbled, “Do you like it?” 

Armie brushed his fingers against the small diamonds in Timothée’s earlobes. “They are beautiful,” Armie told him. “But no jewels could compare to these.” He pulled Timothée’s head close to him and kissed his eyelids lightly, and Timothée chuckled. 

“Alpha, truly, if you do not like them—” he began. 

“Do not call me that,” Armie sighed. “How many times must I tell you?” 

“What shall I call you?” Timothée asked. “Your name is not comfortable to me, and not alpha or Your Majesty or… What name should I call you by?” 

Armie pressed his palms to Timothée's flushed cheeks, and he pressed their foreheads together. “Call me by your name,” he whispered and softly kissed Timothée’s chin. “And I will call you by mine.” 

Timothée pulled back and examined the king, wearing a royal purple coat with his medals pinned to his chest. A golden medallion laid above his heart, proof that the king was the fiercest soldier that his kingdom had ever seen. Timothée laid his hand over the medallion and felt his heartbeat, and he whispered, “Timothée.” 

Armie took in a deep breath and his hand fell down to Timothée’s pale neck. He gripped it tightly and kissed Timothée’s mouth, and the omega desperately clutched his alpha’s arms. “Armand,” he growled into Timothée’s mouth. 

Timothée whined in the back of his throat and his hands tangled in Armie’s hair. He kissed back frantically, just wanting Armie as close as possible. “Timmy,” he mewled. 

“Armie,” he snarled. The smell of his omega, coupled with his warm mouth and the knowledge that he was carrying the prince, was making Armie’s brain spark and fizzle with too many thoughts, and he lowered his mouth to Timothée’s neck. He kissed over his pulse point and nudged his teeth against it, and Timothée hissed in. 

“Please,” he whimpered. “Claim me.” 

“I cannot,” Armie mumbled. “It is still illegal. We must wait until we are married.” 

“Then, let us get married,” Timothée gasped. “Now! Please, alpha, I want you.” 

“I know, darling,” Armie whispered. “You must wait. I know it is tortuous, but we must.” 

“Is it not illegal to impregnate someone without being married to them?” Timothée asked. 

“Not illegal,” Armie said slowly. “Just frowned upon. But everything will be okay, I swear.” 

Timothée nodded and pressed his face into Armie’s chest. “I love you,” He whispered. 

“I love you too,” Armie said softly. He kissed the top of Timothée’s head, and he added, “Go up to our chambers and have Esther run you a warm bath. Lunch will be served when you are ready.” 

“Thank you,” Timothée said softly. 

The torches lining the stone hallways were burning brightly, and Timothée smiled at the servants. They were scurrying around, hanging wreaths and mulberry leaves and cranberries around; preparing the palace for Christmas. Snow had begun to fall outside the windows again, and Timothée stood by a large window and watched the snowflakes. His breath fogged up the window, and he smiled gently as he traced a heart in it. 

“Heart for your lover?” A deep voice said behind Timothée, and he turned to see Henry. His sword was sheathed by his side and his hair was pulled away from his face, the fur collar of his cloak surrounding his neck. 

“Your Highness,” Timothée mumbled and lowered his head for a moment. 

“My Highness?” Henry chuckled. “I should be the one bowing to you, Your Highness.” 

Timothée rolled his eyes. “I suppose,” he mumbled. “It is ridiculous. I only have the title because I am pregnant.” 

“You are the Queen Apparent,” Henry said. “You are very deserving of the title. I will not call you that, though, if you do not wish for me to.” 

“Thank you,” Timothée said. He shivered, and Henry sent a smile his way. 

“Must keep you warm,” he said, and he wrapped a thick arm around Timothée’s shoulders. “Cannot risk the baby getting cold.” 

Timothée snuggled into Henry’s warmth, and he mumbled, “You are very kind to me, Henry. You always have been.” 

“His Majesty is my closest friend,” Henry said. “We have known each other since we were children. We went to school together, we trained for war together, we fought side by side. ‘Brothers in arms, brothers in blood’, Armie would say. I see how happy you make him, and I… I am honestly grateful for you. Armie was falling into a depression and you have seemed to pull him out of it. He wants to practice his swordfighting again. He did not used to want to do that. I think of you as my brother's husband, even if you were not married yet, and he is not technically my brother.” 

“Thank you,” Timothée mumbled. “And Alicia is like a sister to me. And Isabelle and Joseph, I feel as if they are my niece and nephew. So, in a way, you are my brother-in-law.” 

Henry smiled and rubbed Timothée’s back. “How is the puppy?” He asked. 

Timothée giggled. “Puppy is good,” he said and caressed his belly. “How are your puppies?” 

Henry chuckled deep in his chest. “My son is in love with his sister,” he said. “He is always asking if he can hold her, if he can change her. And Izzy…” He sighed and a smile graced his lips. “She smiled at me last night. She grabbed my hair and smiled.” 

“I always figured that she would be a daddy’s girl,” Timothée smiled. “I can only hope that my puppy loves his father like that.” 

“His father is the king,” Henry said. “Of course, he will love him.” 

Timothée smiled and laid his head on Henry’s shoulder. “Thank you for all that you have done for me,” he said. “You have made me feel so welcome here; Alicia, as well. You are thankful for me, but I am thankful for you.” 

Henry innocently kissed the top of Timothée’s head, and the omega smiled. Henry tightened his arm around Timothée and rubbed his arms firmly. “You are too cold,” Henry said. “We must find a way to warm you up. Would you like some tea?” 

“Thank you, Henry,” Timothée smiled. “That would be lovely.” 

Henry pulled his arm from around Timothée and offered him his hand, and Timothée took it. Henry's hand was warm and calloused from years of fighting, but it still felt nice in his hand. 

As they walked down the hall to the kitchen, a man hastily finished hanging a wreath. He glanced over his shoulder at the retreating couple, and he watched the king’s omega give a tittering laugh, and the alpha General pat his back. The man’s eyes narrowed, and he looked to the throne room. The king’s booming voice interrupted the quiet. The powerful, cruel king. 

The man quickly walked to the throne room and pushed open the thick wooden doors, and he called, “Your Majesty?” 

“Leo!” Armie cried. “How good to see you!” 

“Yes,” Leo said quickly. “I am sorry to inform you of this, but you must know it.” 

“What?” Armie chuckled and shifted on his throne. “Is Genovia waging war against me?” 

“Our ally would never,” Leo said. “It is about His Highness, Mistress Timothée. I saw him consorting with General Cavill. Kissing and embracing…” 

Armie stood up abruptly. “What exactly did you see?” He snapped. “Because Henry would never. Neither would Timothée.” 

“They were next to the grand window,” Leo began. “General Cavill inquired about Mistress Timothée’s health and held him close, and he seemed to confess his love for the omega. Then, he kissed him.” 

“Where?” Armie asked. 

Leo hesitated for long enough to look ashamed. “On the mouth,” he said. “And Mistress Timothée kissed back.” 

“Did they say anything else?” Armie asked. 

“General Cavill mentioned his wife, but I could not hear exactly what he said,” Leo said and cast his eyes down. “It was rude to see that, but I thought you should know.” 

Armie let out a heavy breath. “Where are they now?” 

“I believe they were going to General Cavill’s quarters,” Leo said. “But I am unsure.” 

Armie clenched his teeth together and exhaled heavily. “Leave Mistress Timothée be,” He said firmly. “My quarrel is with General Cavill.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Have you heard the story of when Armie met Alicia?” Henry asked. 

Timothée shook his head with a faint smile on his lips. “No,” he said. “Would you tell me?” 

Henry shifted in the chair he sat in and changed his grip on the golden goblet of wine. Timothée had warm tea in a mug, and a tray of grapes sat ready for them. They had been in Henry and Alicia’s chambers for what felt like hours, exchanging stories about their lives. Despite the horridness, there were some good parts of Timothée's life that he gladly indulged Henry in. Now, it was Henry's turn. 

“Do you know how I met Alicia?” Henry asked. 

“You saved her during the war, yes?” Timothée asked and took a sip of the earl grey. 

“Yes,” Henry nodded. “She was a rather pitiful thing— it was obvious that she had once been a slave, but she did not speak English. I had to teach her, and that is how we became close. Her English is perfect now, but I take no credit for it; she is so intelligent, she did it all by herself. However, when she met Armie, her English was not as good. I introduced her to Armie saying that he was the king, and she gasped and hid behind me. She really thought that a king was a dragon. It was very cute.” 

Timothée smiled. “I remember,” he began. “I was maybe thirteen, and my owner told me that I must pierce my ears so I can look more presentable. Rubbish, yes, but all of the other slaves had earrings and I wanted to fit in. However, I was unaware of how afraid of needles I was, and I started screaming. It was ridiculous! Finally, they gave me something to calm me down, and I could barely feel the needle. But they gave me too much sedative, and I could only sit there and feel my new jewelry and just laugh. Everybody was laughing at me, but my friend— her name was Kiernan— played with my hair and pulled it back to show the jewelry.” 

“Have you always looked like that?” Henry asked. 

“How do you mean?” Timothée asked. 

“Long hair, fair skin,” Henry began. “Eyes like a doe. Small and thin. You are very attractive, Timothée, and that is not me trying to flirt. I know you are committed to your alpha, and I am committed to my wife, but I cannot deny beauty when I see it.” 

“Thank you, Henry,” Timothée mumbled. “I assume that I have always looked like this. I grew up with a mirror in my parents’ room, and my mother would fix my hair every morning in front of it, so I know what I looked like then. But, once I was sold, I could only catch glimpses in windows. In every house, I was never allowed a mirror. Seeing a mirror here a month ago was the first time in ten years that I properly saw myself.” 

Henry nodded. “I am happy that your alpha is deciding to loosen the restraints on omegas,” he said. “My daughter will live a better life with these new laws.” 

“Izzy is an omega?” Timothée smiled. “Joe is an alpha, yes?” 

“Yes,” Henry nodded. “And your child?” 

“I do not know yet,” Timothée said and absently rubbed his belly. “I know that there are different scents for each, but I do not know them. My first child was an alpha.” 

“First?” Henry asked. “You have been with child before?” 

“Yes,” Timothée nodded. “I was fifteen when she was born, but I was too weak to nurse her, and my owner did not allow any other food for her. She was alive for barely a day.” 

Henry nodded slowly. “It is not my business to tell,” he said. “But Alicia was with child when we found her. She lost the baby, and she was grief-stricken. She was terrified when she was with Joe, as I am sure you are. If you ever have concerns, speak with her; she may be young, but she is wise beyond her years.” 

“How old is she?” Timothée asked. 

“She will turn twenty next October,” Henry said. 

Timothée mashed his lips together. “She is only two years older than me?” He asked. “I thought she was well into her twenties. She is on the royal council, how is this possible?” 

“She became nobility when we married,” Henry said. “And Armie took such a liking to her and and her intellect that he offered her a space on the council.” 

Timothée nodded. “She is a strong woman,” he said softly. 

“As are you,” Henry said. “Not a woman, but… You are strong beyond measure. You will make a great queen.” 

Timothée placed his mug on the table, and he leaned back in the chair. “This may be too intimate a question, but… Well, Armie is very caring and he knew that I was sore and in pain, and he… Milked me. Have you ever—”

“Yes!” Henry smiled. “Oh my God, he has done that as well? He got the idea from me! I did it for Alicia, and I told him to do it to you when the time came.” 

Timothée flushed bright red. “Thank you for telling him to,” he said. “It was such a relief. I am very thankful for that.” 

“Of course,” Henry grinned. “Now, you said that you do not know what kind of child you will have. You are correct in saying their scents are different, and I have the great talent of having a fantastic nose. If you will allow me…” 

Henry got out of his seat and kneeled down in front of Timothée, and he placed his hands on the boy’s hips. He looked up at Timothée for permission, and Timothée pulled his shirt up to expose his belly. He felt bloated, his belly just a tad bigger than normal. Henry pressed his forehead against Timothée’s chest so his nose and mouth were on his belly, and he took a deep breath. “Roses,” he chuckled. “You are in love.” 

“Yes,” Timothée nodded. 

Henry breathed deeply again, and he said, “It smells light, linen and sea water. An omega.” 

“Really?” Timothée cried. “Oh, yes!” 

Henry smiled and kissed Timothée's stomach. “How perfect,” he said. “What a good omega. And something else… Honey. That usually means your baby is a gi—” 

There was a sudden crash from the doorway, and Timothée looked over to see his alpha darkening the room. “Hello there,” he said with a smile. “Henry here was—”

Armie advanced into the room and grabbed Henry by his collar, and he slammed him up against the stone wall. “How dare you,” he growled. “With my omega?” 

“I did nothing of the sort,” Henry snapped. 

“My omega?” Armie snarled. “What about yours and your puppies? Are they not enough? Must you take everything from me?” 

“You speak like a fool,” Henry spat. “Why would I take your omega from you?” 

“I do not know if I should trust you,” Armie said darkly. “I come in and see you with your face in-between the legs of my omega, him crying out in ecstasy? How does that look, Cavill?” 

“Armie,” Timothée panted and threw his arms around the alpha’s middle. “Please, leave him alone! He did nothing wrong!” 

“You tried to coerce my omega into your bed, do not deny it!” Armie yelled, giving no attention to Timothée. “This is your child he is carrying, is it not?” 

“Armie!” Timothée sobbed. “It is not his! Please, Henry did nothing wrong!” 

Armie suddenly turned to Timothée. His face was red, his hair undone, his pupils blown wide. An animal rage had filled him, and there was nothing to stop it. “So, it was you,” he said lowly. “You are the harlot, just as my brother said. You are trying to bed my General?” 

“That is not what was happening!” Timothée whimpered. The scent of Armie’s anger had filled his chest, and a very primal fear was bubbling in his head. Instinctively, his arms went around himself to protect his baby, and he sniffled. “He was trying to tell me about the child, your child! She is an omega, Armie! We will have a beautiful omega daughter!” 

“And the kiss?” Armie snapped. 

“It was not to flirt with me,” Timothée whined. “It was—”

“A kiss on the lips is not flirting?” Armie chortled. “What is it, then?” 

“That did not happen,” Timothée mumbled. “I do not know what you saw, but we have never done that. I would never do that to you! Henry kissed my belly, but it was a kiss for Ursa and not for me!” 

There was a thick silence between the couple, and Armie’s eyes flicked down to Timothées stomach, covered by his arms. “Ursa?” He said softly. 

“Your daughter,” Timothée said slowly. “That is what I wish her name to be.” 

Armie looked to Henry, standing resilient with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Is this the truth?” He snapped. 

“Why would I ever try to take your omega from you?” Henry asked. 

“And why would you think I would be unfaithful?” Timothée asked. “For God's sake, I was begging you to claim me just earlier today. I am… Offended. The fact that you would even entertain the notion of me being unfaithful is very hurtful. Do you not trust me?” 

Armie reached out for Timothée, but the omega stepped back. “I do trust you,” Armie said. “But I always worry. I always worry that I am not satisfying you or that you do not trust me, or something equally as… As absurd. I let my instincts get in the way of my rational thinking. I heard about the possibility of you with another, and jealousy filled me.” 

“Who even put that idea in your head?” Timothée asked with a tilt of his head. 

“Leonardo,” Armie said. 

“The man who nearly assaulted me?” Timothée scoffed. 

Armie’s shoulders squared, and he growled, “That bastard, he lied! He will be hanged!” 

“Not that I am defending him,” Timothée said. “But why hanging?” 

“He lied to the king,” Armie said. “And he slandered the queen’s honor. And he practically insulted the general! All of these things constitute an execution!” 

“He should not be killed for his crimes,” Timothée pleaded. “Imprison him or flog him, anything but killing him.” 

“It is treason of the highest order,” Henry added gently. “To speak poorly of the queen and lie to the king… It is legally mandated that an execution is in order.” 

“I am not the queen!” Timothée cried. “I will not be until we are married! He spoke poorly of nobody but the king's whore!” 

The room was silent. Timothée watched the alphas shift uncomfortably at the mention of it, because they knew it was true. Until the marriage and coronation, Timothée was nothing more than a common slave. Armie carefully reached out and took Timothéeso soft hands in his, and he whispered, “Our child's name is to be Ursa?” He whispered. 

“Ursa Wymarc,” Timothée mumbled. His eyes were locked on his feet.

“Ursa,” Armie whispered. He swallowed thickly and looked at Timothée’s belly, his shirt still pulled up to expose his skin, and he gave a small laugh. “Her Highness Ursa Wymarc Hammer, Crown Princess of Borovia. What a title the little pup will have.” 

“What would my title be?” Timothée asked. 

“You would take my name when we marry,” Armie began. “So, you would be His Majesty Timothée Chalamet Hammer, Queen of Borovia.” 

“And you are His Majesty Armand Douglas Hammer, King of Borovia,” Timothée huffed out a laugh. “Big name for a big man.” 

“Imagine being five years old with that name,” Armir chuckled. “Except I was just a prince then, so I was His Highness Armand Douglas Hammer, Crown Prince of Borovia. It is the same concept, though.” 

Timothée laughed. “And my title now?” He asked. 

“His Highness Timothée Chalamet, Mistress to the King,” Armie smiled. He kissed the top of Timothée’s head, brushing those thick curls aside to see his earrings, and he kissed his ears softly. “Marry me tonight. I can arrange to have a priest come visit us this very night. The coronation would be whenever you want, and… I could claim you tonight.” 

“Alpha,” Timothée whispered. He looked up to Armie and his glittering blue eyes, and he pressed his palm to his warm cheek. He could practically see the diamond on his finger already. “I would adore that.”

_____

It was very quiet in the church. The moon was high in the inky night sky, silver stars flashing down onto the snow. It was a very cold night, no fires left to keep the royal couple warm, but Armie dutifully removed his cloak and gave it to his better half. 

Alicia and Henry were with Timothée and Armie to offer support. Alicia managed to procure a bundle of holly for him to hold, and she even brought a lipstick that was a merry shade of red to paint his lips with. She sighed and fluffed out his hair, and she said, “I feel as if it is my little brother getting married.” 

Timothée looked down at himself, his wrinkled outfit from the day with Armie’s large cloak over him. “Is it bad that I…” He began. “Do not want this? I want it, yes, but not now. Must the whole kingdom know, or can we keep it just to us for a while?” 

“We can do whatever you wish, darling,” Alicia said. “However, I feel like your groom is rather impatient to claim you. I know mine was.” 

Timothée blushed deeply. “I want to be his,” he whispered. 

“He is waiting for you at the altar,” Alicia said. “Go to him.” 

Timothée took a deep breath and nodded. 

Armie turned his head immediately at the sound of shoes on the stone floor. He recognized his omega's gait, soft but quick, and he turned to Henry. “I am ready for this,” he whispered. “I cannot wait to be his.” 

“He will be yours, though,” Henry interjected. 

“He is more myself than I,” Armie said as the smell of roses and sea water and honey pervaded the air. Timothée stood at the end of the aisle, his cheeks flushed bright red with a gleam in his eyes. “He would own me as much as I own him.” Armie let his eyes brush over his omega, at his perfect he looked, and he smiled. 

It was quiet as Timothée walked towards his alpha and the priest, just the rustling of his skirt and the sharp click of Alicia’s shoes behind him. He saw Armie lean in close to Henry and whisper something to him, and Henry smiled widely and nodded. Armie reached his hand out to assist Timothée up onto the altar, and he jumped at how cold Timothée’s hand was. It was like ice. Was he too cold in the church? Armie fixed the cloak to fall in a way that covered more of Timothée’s body, and the priest chuckled. “Already a caring husband,” he said. “Normally, I would say things about the nature of love and how matrimony is a holy thing, but, considering the size of the audience and how they have heard it before—” Alicia sighed contently and clutched Henry’s arm. “I will keep it simple. Armand, do you take Timothée to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“I do,” Armie said with a faint smile. 

“Timothée,” the priest said. “Do you take Armand to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

Timothée’s breaths became short. It was hard to breath. Armie had only begun to recently show that he loved and cared; the whole time, it had been the desire to have a son that drove him to niceties. Now that it was known that he was carrying a girl, how was he sure that Armie was genuine in his love? “How much do you love me?” He asked hurriedly. 

“Timothée,” Armie chuckled. “You know that I love you.” 

“Yes, but how much?” Timothée asked. “If I lost the baby, would you still want me? If I am unable to deliver you a child? If I decide that this is not the life that I want, would you convince me to stay?” 

“Are you having doubts?” Armie asked with furrowed eyebrows. “Darling, I wish you could see inside of my head. You are always there. Even before the baby, you were always there. Your soft skin and your silky hair and those gorgeous eyes… You are my first thought in the morning and the last at night. I wish to spend the rest of my life in your arms. I want to be yours to have and hold, in sickness and in health, better or worse, richer or poorer, royal or common. I want you. I would put a new moon in the sky to commemorate my love for you. And a star for Ursa. No; a whole constellation for her. You are giving me the only thing that I have ever truly wished for: a child. This is my vow to you, Timothée, that my love for you will never run out. And if you ever believe that it will, just look at yourself and see what a miracle you are. How can I not be devoted to a miracle?” 

Timothée drew in a shaking breath. “Okay,” he whispered. “But… I do not want you to claim me tonight.”

“I will do whatever I can to please you,” Armie said. “I will wait however long you need me to.” 

Timothée looked down at their interlaced hands, and he tugged Armie close to him and buried his face in his hard chest. He felt so insignificant, and he just wanted to be sure that his alpha was there to protect him. Armie stroked his back and hummed softly to comfort Timothée, and he whispered, “You must answer the question, darling.” 

“Oh,” Timothée mumbled. “Yes, I do take him as my husband.” 

“Very good,” the priest said with a smile. “By the power vested in me by the Holy Church of Borovia, I pronounce you man and husband. Your Majesty?” 

Armie smiled and looked down to Timothée, and he lowered his head and softly kissed him. Timothée’s lips were warm and soft, and Armie pressed his hand to Timothée’s cheek and kissed him deeper. Henry and Alicia were clapping, and a smile creeped onto Timothée’s lips. “I love you,” He whispered. 

“I love you too,” Armie whispered, and his arms fell down to around Timothée’s waist. “And you too, little Ursa.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late upload! yesterday was my birthday and i had a minor crisis arise, but everything is dealt with, so here's the next chapter!

“Happy Christmas,” Armie said. He softly kissed Timothée’s cheek and brushed his hair out of his sleepy eyes, and he added, “I have presents for you.” 

Timothée slowly turned onto his back to face Armie, and he peeled his eyes open. Armie stood there in his Christmas outfit of red flannel, a merry flush in his cheeks. He had been outside obviously, because there was still damp snow in his hair. “Presents?” He asked. “More than one?” 

“Yes,” Armie said with a wide smile. “You can open your first one now.” 

Timothée sat up, and his back cramped. Those had been coming around often, cramps and pain in his back and chest. Alicia had told him that, because he was so small, his body would try to protest the pregnancy, and to tell her when the pain became too much. He had yet to alert her to the daily cramps when waking up. He barely ever told Armie about them, because he did not want him worrying him or Ursa. He was running a whole kingdom; he had no time to worry about an omega. 

“What is it?” Timothée asked. 

Armie reached off of the side of the bed and retrieved a large box wrapped in shiny red paper. “For you,” he said with a smile. “If you do not like it, I can send it back.” 

“Did you order this to be made for me?” Timothée gasped. He carefully undid the paper, trying to save it to keep as a momento, and he pulled the lid from the box. Wrapped in thin paper was a bundle of fabric, and Timothée pulled it out with a squeal. “Armie! You did not!” 

Armie was smiling widely, his sharp teeth on show. “Do you like it?” 

“My own cloak,” Timothée said with a wide grin. Soft green wool with dark fur on the inside, a large hood, and an extravagant golden buckle. There was a coat of arms etched beautifully into the buckle, and Timothée squinted his eyes. “What does this say?” He asked. 

“ _In una potestas, quia omnis potentia_ ,” Armie said. “It is Latin, not English. It means ‘power in one, power for all’. That is our family crest.” 

“Oh,” Timothée said. He glanced at the letters again, and they looked like the same amalgamations of letters that any other words were. The reading lessons were going well, but Timothée could barely understand how to write his own name. “I love it, Armie, thank you.” 

“I have another present for you,” Armie grinned. “It is actually two things, but they go together.” Timothée watched as he reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small wooden box, and he opened it towards Timothée. A silver ring shaped like a leaf with a glimmering stone of amber imbedded was inside the box, as well as a pressed metal ring with the same emblem as the buckle on the cloak. “Our wedding ring,” Armie said and slipped the amber ring onto Timothée’s finger. “And our family ring. All of the wives wear the family crest on their little fingers, so I had it sized for your little finger.” He held Timothée’s small hand out, and he looked at the skin. Thin and pale, the blue veins visible. He was too small, too frail. He quickly kissed Timothée’s hand and slipped the ring on, and he smiled. 

Timothée held his hands out in front of him to examine the jewelry, and a small smile flitted across his lips. “I love them,” he whispered. “Thank you, Armie. I… I got you a present as well.” 

“You did not have to do that, darling,” Armie protested. “You have given me more than enough.” 

“I know,” Timothée said. “But I feel like it. Close your eyes.” 

Armie chuckled and covered his eyes with his hands, and he listened to the rustling of fabric as Timothée shifted. He smiled when he imagined what gift Timothée had for him, and he heard his husband’s voice say, “Open your eyes, sweetheart.” 

Armie removed his hands and saw Timothée sitting with his legs under him, his hands laid on his thighs. He was naked, his head tilted up to convey confidence, with his knees open to expose himself, and he said, “It has been a long time since we made love. I know that you want to, so do whatever you wish to me.” 

Armie’s eyes swept along the omega, looking at his milky skin. He had scars lining his body, and it broke Armie’s heart to see them. Armie leaned forward and kissed Timothée’s cheek softly, and his hands carefully rested on Timothée’s waist. “Whatever I wish?” He whispered. His kisses moved to Timothée’s ear, where he gently sucked on the soft lobe. “I wish many things, darling.” 

“Like what?” Timothée asked. 

Armie was quiet. He kissed Timothée’s neck, and then he whispered, “You will have to find out, I guess.” His hand shifted from Timothée’s waist up to his chest, where he gently cupped a soft breast. Timothée let out a soft breath when Armie massaged it in his palm, and he felt himself growing hard. “Does that feel good?” 

“Yes, sir,” Timothée whispered. 

“Would you like it better if I used my mouth?” Armie asked. 

“Yes,” Timothée nodded quickly. “Yes, please.” 

Armie smiled at his husband's eagerness, and he gently pushed him back to lay down. He instantly claimed Timothée’s mouth in a deep kiss, and Timothée’s hand wrapped around the back of Armie’s neck and tugged him closer. The metal of his wedding ring was cold against the sensitive skin of his neck, but Armie just pulled Timothée up into his chest and broke the kiss with a soft pop of their spit-slicked mouths. Armie lovingly pushed Timothée’s hair behind his ear, and he whispered, “You are all that I have ever wanted.” 

“Oh, stop,” Timothée mumbled. 

Armie kissed Timothée again, applying soft pressure to his breast, and a soft moan slipped out of Timothée's mouth. His legs opened wider to admit Armie into him, and the king stopped to undo his pants. The room was full of their scents, hormones cascading from Timothée’s neck. He would be knotted. He had missed that. In an instant, Timothée was pulling Armie’s jacket off, and he clutched him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him hard. 

Armie started to move over Timothée, but he stopped. “Ursa,” he mumbled. “I cannot be on top of you.” 

Timothée was panting as he looked down at himself. He looked no different than he had two weeks earlier at their wedding, but he knew that Armie was right. “I…” he started. “I can be on top of you, if you would allow me.” 

Armie nuzzled his forehead into Timothée’s chest and licked over his skin. “Anything to have you,” He whispered. He kissed the middle of Timothée’s chest, and he turned them carefully so that Timothée was straddling his waist above him. This was new to him, and he admired Timothée’s body; he could see almost every inch of him. He felt Timothée’s musky slick drip from his thigh and onto his waist, and he chuckled. “Precious little thing,” he whispered, and he finished removing his clothing. They fell to the wooden floor with a thump, and Timothée ran his hands down Armie’s chest and the spry curls. Timothée would never admit it to anybody, but he enjoyed burying his head in Armie’s chest and twisting the little curls around his finger. He usually did it at night as Armie was reading before bed and slowly pointing out words to Timothée. 

Timothée smiled softly when he saw Armie’s cock. It looked painfully erect, like he needed to be sheathed inside of Timothée at that very moment. Timothée carefully opened his legs wider and began to sink down onto him, but he stopped and grabbed Armie’s hand. “I love you,” He whispered and kissed Armie's hand. 

Armie chuckled, and he pressed his hand to Timothée’s face. “Go slow,” he whispered. “I do not want you getting hurt.” 

Timothée nodded, and Armie moaned out at the feeling of his tight heat enveloping his cock. Armie sat up slightly and pulled Timothée close, and he clutched his curls as he kissed him. “My husband,” he murmured. 

“My husband,” Timothée mumbled into the kiss. “Please, alph— Armie.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Armie asked. 

Timothée shifted forward to press his lips to Armie’s ear, and he whispered, “Fuck me, Timothée.” 

Armie felt his chest swell at the words. Never had Timothée used that strong of a word, and it shocked him slightly to see his pure omega be resolved to cussing. Armie wrapped one arm around Timothée’s waist and held him close as he slowly rolled his hips up, and Timothée bit his plush bottom lip. “Ah, Armie,” He whimpered. “Harder.” 

“Are you sure?” Armie asked. 

“Please,” Timothée whined. “Armie, please, harder.” 

Armie leaned forward and captured Timothée’s red nipple in his mouth, and he bit it with his front teeth and he snapped his hips up into his omega. Timothée cried out in pleasure, and Armie felt his heart slam against his ribs. Armie wrapped his lips around his nipple and licked over it, wanting the sweet nectar of his omega to fill his mouth, and it began to trickle down his throat as he thrusted up into Timothée. He was already sweating, his chest red with exertion, but the warm milk sated his thirst and spurred him on to go harder. He refused to go faster, though; not until Timothée told him to. 

Timothée was a mess, moaning and sobbing and digging his fingernails into his alpha’s back. He was close to collapsing and giving in to Armie, letting him do whatever he wanted, no matter how animal it was. He would let him bite, hit, restrain, do anything that the king wished. “Armie,” he panted. “Bite me.” 

Armie immediately fell off of his nipple and began to kiss his breast, and he carefully captured the soft skin in his teeth. Timothée groaned and raked his fingers through Armie’s bed-flattened hair, and he yelped when Armie bit his breast. Armie pulled away after a moment and found that he had left a crescent of teeth on his lover’s breast, and he was sure that it would bruise up nicely. “Gorgeous,” he whispered and licked over the wound, and Timothée whimpered. 

“Alpha,” he mumbled. “‘M close.” 

“You can come if you need to,” Armie whispered. “I am almost there.” 

Timothée opened his mouth and panted as he tried to finish himself with his hand, and he felt his hard cock twitch before he was emptying himself onto his alpha's chest. He was breathing heavily, and he leaned his head forward to rest on Armie’s own. He pressed his hand to Armie’s cheek and smoothed his thumb down his stubble, and he gave Armie a slow, languid kiss. The thrusts became slower and more gentle, and Timothée pulled out of the kiss. “I love you,” He whispered and nuzzled his cheek into Armie’s. 

“I love you too,” Armie mumbled. “Thank you for this present.” 

“Of course,” Timothée said. 

Armie kissed Timothée’s sweet mouth again, but something was tugging at his heart. He needed to ask Timothée something. “Do you…” He began. “Feel obligated to do this for me?” 

“Not at all,” Timothée answered. His eyes were cast down, and his fingers played with Armie’s hair. 

“Timothée,” Armie began firmly. “You do not have to do this. You are not a slave, you do not have to constantly please me. You are my husband, and the mother of my child. You have pleased me beyond measure. Please, do not think that you must do this for me.” 

Timothée pressed his head into Armie’s neck. “This is all I know,” he whispered. “I do not know how to read or write, or how to cook, or how to sew, I do not know how to do anything else. All I know is pleasing my owner.” 

“I am not your owner,” Armie said emphatically. “I never paid a cent for you. I tried to outlaw that years ago, I am against slavery. I would never buy another human.” 

“Why…” Timothée began, and lifted himself from off of Armie. He curled up in his lap and pressed his cheek to his warm chest, and he mumbled, “Why did you choose me?” 

Armie sighed and brushed Timothée’s curls behind his ear. “Because you are beautiful,” he said. “Lily-white skin and dark hair, big eyes; you are breathtaking. Even then, in the slave pit, I knew that I wanted you. You spoke, and your voice was so melodic that I wanted to hear you talk for the rest of my life. I wanted you, from the very first moment. I have never wanted anybody more than I want you.” He laid his hand gently on Timothée’s belly, and he kissed his head. 

Then, there was a gentle nudge inside of Timothée against Armie’s hand. A kick. Timothée gasped, but not in happiness. Barely two months along; she should not be kicking yet. “Armie,” Timothée said. “I think something is wrong. Fetch a physician.”

_____

The physician looked at the young omega. Timothée was definitely a beautiful creature, and the plump roundness of his stomach added to it. “Good morning, Your Highness,” Michael said. “What ails you? Your baby?” 

Timothée slowly wrapped his arms around himself. “Yes,” he said. “She kicked today.” 

“Congratulations,” Michael said. “How far along?” 

“Two months,” Timothée said confidently. “Only two. That is why I came.” 

Michael nodded slowly. “Two months and already kicking,” he said. “Do you mind if I touch her?” 

Timothée shook his head, and he began to pull up his shirt. His bump was bigger than it should have been at two months, obvious against the tightness of his shirt. His fair skin was marked with white stretches, and he had small freckles littering the skin. Michael carefully placed his hand on Timothée’s belly and pressed gently, and a firm kick was placed on his palm. “That is interesting,” Michael said. “And you are sure that it is only two months?” 

“I was knotted for the first time two months ago,” Timothée said. “I had not been knotted for several years before that. That is the only way.” 

Michael nodded in understanding. “I will ask you something a bit unorthodox,” he said. “Have you come in contact with a witch?” 

“Not that I know of,” Timothée said quickly. “Witches are real?” 

“Oh, yes, yes,” Michael said. “Very rare. Only a handful of them in the world. But, if you had, they could have cast a charm to speed up your pregnancy. If they did, the charm would more than half the time of the pregnancy; from nine months to three. If that is the case, you must prepare for a child in the next month.” 

Timothée’s eyes widened. “In a month?” He asked. “Good God!” 

“There is only one way to tell,” Michael said. “I know a woman who dabbles in witchcraft. Let me find her, and we can get confirmation.” 

Timothée sat in the office, waiting. The physician’s office was in the village, and Timothée had enjoyed walking through and seeing all of the Christmas decorations. Holly and mistletoe were everywhere, snow was on the ground, and there was a crisp bite in the air. It was a gorgeous Christmas Day. Timothée had told Armie to stay in the palace to avoid suspicions, and Armie had been hesitant to allow his very pregnant omega out on his own, but he finally allowed it, as long as someone accompanied him. Alicia came with him, and she sat next to Timothée. She had Izzy in a warm wrap on her chest, and Izzy was asleep. The baby wore a festive spring of holly in her thin hair, and Alicia wore a beautiful dark green dress with her hair braided up, ruby jewels hanging from her ears. Timothée wore a simple outfit of a white shirt with a red skirt, and he wore his new green cloak and diamond earrings with his rings. His hair was pulled out of his face into a bun at the nape of his neck, a few curls falling out. They were a striking couple for sure. 

Timothée heard as the door of the building opened, and a blonde woman entered the room. “Timothée!” She yelped. 

“Saoirse!” Timothée smiled. “You are the one that ‘dabbles’ in witchcraft?” 

“Yes,” Saoirse said slowly. “Dabble is the correct word. My father was very active in witchcraft and I always resented it, but I grew into the tarot readings and small charms, and… I know what happened.” 

“What?” Timothée asked eagerly. “Is Ursa okay?” 

“Yes, yes, she is perfect,” Saoirse assured him. “But… I have been teaching Aldwin a few small incantations; mostly charms of goodwill, especially around this season and holiday. The day we spoke, Aldy put a charm on you as you left with the intention of giving you a healthy pregnancy, but… Charms are tricky things. They are in an old language that depends heavily on pronunciation, or you could cast an entirely different charm. That is what my son did. He mispronounced an important word, and he cast a charm to…” She paused. “It made your pregnancy increase in speed; as Michael told you, from the normal nine months to a third of the time. I tried to reverse it, but I could not. I am so sorry, Your Highness. I tried many times to tell you, but I was always refused at the gates of the palace.” 

Anger boiled in Timothée. Not at Saoirse or Aldwin, but at the guards of the palace. “They should have admitted you inside,” Timothée mumbled. “Thank you for telling me now. I… Goodness. One month. My alpha will be thrilled.” 

Alicia smiled and rested her petite hand on his leg. “Henry and I got the both of you a Christmas present. It is not much, but it will help,” she said. “We know how it is.” 

“Saoirse, I will tell the guards to let you in whenever you come,” Timothée said. “I am so sorry that they would not admit you.” 

“No, no, do not be sorry,” Saoirse said quickly. “I should be sorry, it was my son to cast the charm.” 

“He did it meaning well,” Timothée said. “And he is a beautiful little boy, so it is okay. What is he?” 

“A beta,” Saoirse answered. “His father was, as well.” 

“What a beautiful son you have,” Timothée said with a gracious smile. “Tell him that my family wishes him happy Christmas.” 

“I will be sure to,” Saoirse nodded quickly. 

“How old is your son?” Alicia asked.

“My Aldwin is four,” Saoirse said. “He is precious.” 

“My Joseph is three,” Alicia said. “Come visit us; Joe would love to have a new playmate.” 

“Of course,” Saoirse said. “Your Highness, you are sure that you are not mad?” 

“Not at all,” Timothée said softly. “At least, now, I do not have to suffer for seven more months. Just one more.” He smiled and looked down at himself and Ursa, and he added, “Saoirse, bring Aldwin to the ball at the palace tonight. He would love it.” 

“I will be sure to do it,” Saoirse said. “Goodbye, Your Highness. And Your Highness, Mrs. Cavill.” 

“Alicia, please,” she said quickly. “You are a dear friend of my Timmy, you can call me by my first name.” 

Saoirse nodded. “Good day,” she said, then approached Michael. She whispered something in his ear, and he smiled. He nodded, then patted her back as she left. 

Timothée sighed. “Armie will be upset,” he mumbled. “We only have a month until Ursa is here. How can we manage this?” 

“I will help you,” Alicia said. “And Henry will help, as well. And Viktor and Armie’s mother will also help. You are not alone, Timothée. You may feel like it, but you have many, many people who are willing to have you as a first priority.” 

Timothée nodded. “Thank you, Lici,” he said softly. “I am just so scared. I-I lost my first baby, what if I lose Ursa?” 

“We will help,” Alicia said. “Timothée, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You will deliver Ursa, I promise.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for reference, the name "lēn" is pronounced "lean" :)

“His Majesty Armand and His Highness Timothée!” 

Timothée smiled at all of the guests, one hand on Armie’s and the other resting on his belly. He wore a green dress of silk, the skirt full and the bodice tight to expose his bump, the sleeves extending to his elbows. He had a pretty red ribbon in his hair, and he wore earrings of emerald. Armie had gone to great lengths to ensure that Timothée was the most beautiful guest in attendance at the Christmas ball, and, even though Timothée did not believe it, he put on a face like he did. 

Armie escorted his husband through the ballroom to the front where his magnificent throne sat, and gestured from Timothée to the throne. “Have a seat,” Armie said with a wide grin. 

“It is your throne,” Timothée said with a smile. “You sit.” 

Armie kissed Timothée’s cheek and sat in his throne, and he carefully put his hands on Timothée’s hips and pulled him to sit on his knee. He kissed Timothée’s shoulder gently, exposed by the cut of the neckline and sleeves of the dress, and he brushed his hair away from his neck and kissed it softly. “My queen,” Armie whispered, and his hand wrapped around to rest on Timothée’s belly. “And my princess. Will her crib be in our chambers?” 

“Of course,” Timothée said. “If that suits you, that is.” 

“You are her mother,” Armie said. “Whatever you say about your child will happen.” 

“I am sorry that she is not a son,” Timothée mumbled. “I know how much you wanted a son.” 

“Nonsense,” Armie said. “I am grateful for whatever you give me. I will kiss Ursa’s soft hair when she is born—”

“Provided she is born with hair,” Timothée interjected with a giggle. 

“Yes,” Armie nodded. “And I will hold her as you nurse her, and I will be next to you at her christening. She will wear the same gown I wore for mine.” 

“Were you always this big?” Timothée asked. “Or did you come out as a wee thing?”

“Oh, I was about seven pounds or so, my mother says,” Armie said. “Average.” 

“I think I was only five,” Timothée said. “Maybe even four. But I hope Ursa is more like you in regards to size. I have always hated how small I am.” 

“I love it,” Armie said. “Do you know why?” 

“Why?” Timothée asked. 

Armie leaned in close, his lips touching Timothée’s jeweled ear, and he whispered, “Because, when I am inside you, I can see my cock in you, making your little tummy just a tad larger. You look so full of me, ready to burst. Am I too big for you?” 

“No,” Timothée whispered. His face was burning at the very thought of his alpha inside of him, and he shifted his weight to try to dull the ache in-between his thighs. 

“Good,” Armie said. He kissed Timothée’s ear and leaned back in his throne, and he watched over the bustling party. Families of his council members were in attendance, as well as servants and other monarchs from different kingdoms. “Where is that old bastard? He told me he was coming.” 

“Who?” Timothée asked. 

“Luca,” Armie said fondly. “He is the king of Genovia; our most reliable ally. He told me he would be here to meet you. He is an alpha, and he has a male omega as well. A gorgeous couple.” 

“I look forward to meeting him,” Timothée said. “Now, more about our daughter. Are you happy with her name?” 

“Ursa Wymarc?” Armie asked, and Timothée nodded. “It is a gorgeous name. Very well chosen. Where did the name Ursa come from?” 

“I like the sound of it,” Timothée said. “But if you wish to change her name, it is not too late.” 

Armie chuckled. “Too late,” he said. “You say that as if she is due tomorrow.” 

Timothée stiffened. He had yet to tell Armie about the charm, and he was terrified of his reaction. Would he be happy? Timothée snagged his bottom lip in-between his teeth, and he said, “I have something to tell you.” 

“Anything,” Armie prompted. 

Timothée breathed heavily. “I met a witch some time ago,” he began. “But she was friendly. Her son was lost in the village and I helped him find her. I found out today that her son— who is only four, bless him— cast a charm on me to have a healthy pregnancy. But he messed up a bit and… I am due in late January. That is why Ursa was kicking and why I look even larger than I did this morning, and… I am so sorry for not telling you earlier.” 

Armie’s mouth was open slightly as he processed what Timothée had told him. His mind was racing against a backdrop of lutes and pianos and people chattering, and he swiftly took a hearty drink from his goblet of wine. “A month?” He asked. “We have a month to prepare for her?” 

Timothée gave a delicate sniffle. “I know it is not ideal,” he whispered. “But I—”

“Ideal!” Armie exclaimed. He chuckled deep in his chest and clutched Timothée’s curls as the widest smile came over his face. “It is more than ideal! I was so impatient to see her, and now— A month! This is better than any news you could have told me!” 

“Really?” Timothée asked. “You are not angry?” 

“Not at all!” Armie smiled. “A month, goodness!” He laughed and clutched Timothée’s face, and he drew him in and kissed him deeply. Timothée kissed back, holding Armie tightly, and he disconnected their lips and looked down at Timothée’s belly. “Just one more month,” Armie said with a smile. “Oh, goodness, darling, this is so much better than I could have wished.” 

“Happy Christmas?” Timothée mumbled, and Armie laughed. 

“It certainly is,” Armie agreed. He looked past Timothée and saw somebody behind him, and he smiled wider. “Luca!” 

Timothée turned to see an older man with tan, wrinkled skin and black hair fluffed up everywhere. His facial hair was tinged gray, but his brown eyes were bright. Timothée could plainly see that he had certainly been attractive when he was younger and had aged to become a wise man. “Armand,” the man said with a smile, and Armie carefully shifted Timothée off of his lap to stand up and embrace the man. “How are you, child?” 

“Good, good,” Armie replied. “Luca, this is my omega, Timothée.” 

Luca looked at Timothée with a gleam in his eyes. “Very attractive,” he said. His voice was thick with the Genovian accent. “And with child! Congratulations, Armand!” 

Armie wrapped a large arm around Timothée’s waist, and he smiled down at his belly. “She is due in a month,” Armie said. “And she already has quite a personality.” 

“Does she?” Luca smiled. 

“She is kicking,” Timothée said softly. “Would you like to…?” 

“If your alpha would allow me,” Luca said. 

“Of course,” Armie replied. Luca placed his warm hand on top of Timothée’s belly and rubbed gently. Ursa was shifting and kicking Timothée’s ribs, but she fell very still when Luca placed his hand down. Luca smiled, and he sent a gentle pat to Timothée’s belly. 

“How did you do that?” Timothée gasped. 

“I have children myself,” Luca said. “And my omega is small like you, and our children kicked him endlessly. I had to learn a few tricks to soothe him.” 

“How many children?” Timothée asked. 

“Three,” Luca said. “Two princes and a princess. My oldest, my dear Lēn, she is getting married soon. Armand, you have an invitation to come to her wedding, if you wish.” 

“Of course,” Armie nodded. “How old is Lēn now?.” 

“She is twenty-two,” Luca said. “I remember the day we adopted her like it was yesterday. You will have a princess as well, yes?” 

“Yes,” Timothée nodded. “Ursa.” 

“Ah!” Luca exclaimed. “Latin: little bear. A strong woman she will be!” 

Timothée smiled. “You know Latin?” He asked. 

“It is a rather dead language,” Luca chuckled. “But my father made me learn it. I have tried to forget it, but it will not leave me!” Timothée laughed with Luca, and the Genovian man looked to Armie. “You have chosen a good mate here, Michael.” 

Armie visibly stiffened at the name, and he cleared his throat. “Your Majesty?” He began.

“Damn, I did it,” Luca chuckled softly. “I am sorry, you just remind me so heavily of your father. He was a good man, God rest his soul.” 

Armie nodded solemnly. “Well, do not let this bring us down,” he said. “Go eat and drink, Luca. Enjoy your Christmas.” 

“Good luck,” Luca said and squeezed Timothée’s hand, and Timothée looked over to Armie as Luca retreated. 

“Why did you suddenly stop?” Timothée asked. “Was it the mention of your father?” 

“No,” Armie mumbled. “Yes. Damn. It is just that I had a complicated relationship with my father. I told you before that he treated me poorly but… I never told you everything. He would hit me when I did something wrong. He made me practice my sword fighting long into the night, even after I begged him to let me stop. He trained me to be a cruel king ever since I was a child; I never had proper friends. That is why Henry is my best friend, because he was my first true friend. Then, I turned thirteen and I got my first rut, and my father locked me in my room so I could not hurt any of our omega servants. He took me to the slave pit and let me…” Armie said and raised his goblet to his lips. “There was this one omega. She was beautiful and I had had my eye on her, but she was older than me, so I figured that she would not like me. Then, my father made me realize that I… It sickens me to even say it… I did not have to have permission. He taught me to rape omegas. I never did it, though, but that made my father even more upset. He said I was soft and would never be a good ruler.” He suddenly pressed his lips together to keep quiet, and he looked down at the wine in his goblet. “It bothers me when people compare me to my father because he was the worst to me, and it frightens me that people see someone as cruel as him in me.”

Timothée was quiet, and he placed his hand on Armie’s shoulder. “I did not know your father,” he whispered. “But, from what you tell me, you are unequivocally not him. Sweetheart, this child inside of me was made by your love, not your cruelty. The simple choice of you not abusing omegas shows your character. You are not your father, Armie, and you never will be.” 

Armie nodded slowly, and his hand gently grasped Timothée’s frail hand. His skin was as cold as ice, and Armie lifted his hand to his mouth and softly kissed it. “You look gorgeous, my love,” He whispered. “Would you like to dance?” 

“I do not know how,” Timothée said gently. 

“It is easy,” Armie said. Timothée stood up to allow Armie to stand, and Armie outstretched his hand to lead Timothée to the middle of the ballroom. Timothée held his head up high and took Armie’s hand, and Armie whisked him away. The dancing crowd parted for the king and his husband, and Armie gently placed his hands on Timothée’s waist. “Do not be alarmed,” Armie whispered and pulled Timothée close to him. “But people are looking at you. The women are red-faced at your beauty.” 

Timothée let out a shuddering breath and pressed his forehead against Armie’s chest, and Armie pressed his fingers under Timothée’s chin and lifted his head up. Armie gazed into Timothée’s eyes, so colored that they looked almost golden, and he lovingly brushed a curl out of Timothée’s face. “When do you wish to be coronated?” Armie asked. 

“Whenever you wish,” Timothée said. 

“It is your choice, darling,” Armie said softly. “It is your coronation.” 

Timothée sighed. “I do not know,” he whispered. “I am unsure if I am even able to… To be queen. I am afraid that I will mess up and ruin everything.” 

“Never,” Armie said. “I will be right by your side everyday. I will never let you drown.” 

Timothée suddenly rose up and pressed his mouth to Armie’s, and his hands moved up to Armie’s hair. Armie had his magnificent golden crown on his head, and Timothée’s fingers gently touched it. His lover— his husband, the father of his child— was the king. He was the queen. It felt surreal, and Timothée kissed him harder to ground himself. Armie’s hand smoothed up Timothée’s body to his neck, and his hands carefully wrapped around his throat in an alpha display of ownership. A small growl escaped Armie’s mouth, and he gently bit Timothée’s plush bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Timothée looked up at Armie, his eyes wide at the public domination, and Armie just chuckled. “I have a present for you,” he whispered. 

“Another one?” Timothée asked. “Armie, you have given me enough.” 

“I insist,” Armie said. He kissed Timothée’s cheek briefly, then turned to the grand doors of the ballroom. He rested his fingers on his lips and let out a sharp whistle, and the ballroom fell silent. 

In the silence, Timothée heard small skitterings out in the hall. “Armie?” He asked in confusion, and Armie just smiled. Then, in the hall, there was a small yip, and Timothée’s heart jumped into his throat. “Did you—” 

There was a short bark, and a small puppy came trotting into the ballroom. He was smaller than Armie’s hand with curling caramel fur on his back and a waggling tail. He had a festive red ribbon around his neck, and his ears flopped all over the place. “Armie!” Timothée cried. 

The puppy barked his delicate call, and he started to run towards Armie. Once at the king’s feet, the dog starting jumping and pressing his small paws onto Armie’s legs. Armie leaned down and scooped the puppy up into his arms, and he presented him to Timothée. “Happy Christmas,” Armie said. The puppy squirmed in Armie’s grasp and he yipped and wagged his tail at Timothée. “What shall his name be?” 

Timothée reached out and smoothed his hand down the puppy’s head, and the puppy pressed his head up into Timothée’s palm. “Archibald,” Timothée said softly. “Archie.” 

The puppy barked and started to lick Timothée’s hand, and Timothée giggled. “Archie it is,” Armie agreed. “He is the pup of my strongest hunting dog. He was born the runt of the litter, and I knew that you would love him.” 

“Oh, I do,” Timothée gasped. “May I hold him?” Armie transferred the puppy into Timothée’s arms, and Archie yapped and began to lick Timothée’s face. “Oh, Armie, I love him! Thank you!”

_____

Archie trotted into the bed chambers like he knew the area well, and he stretched for a moment and wiggled his bottom before launching himself up onto the bed. His tail had been waving nonstop, and Timothée had cooed over him and fed him bits of dinner the whole night. Armie had anticipated that the dog would be spoiled rotten under his husband's care, but he did not mind. Timothée was slowly unraveling his hair from the braids and curls, and he looked down at the pins that he had pulled from his hair. “Armie?” He called.

“Yes?” Armie responded from the bed. He had situated himself under the covers with a mug of hot tea and a book, and Archie had settled right next to Armie. 

Timothée sighed. “I…” He said softly. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Armie asked, and he closed his book.

“For everything,” Timothée said. “I was just this slave, but you saved me and… Now I am the queen. I never imagined that my life would be like this because it seemed too fantastic, but… I am learning to read. I will be a mother to a princess. Thank you for giving me this opportunity.” 

“I never gave you a single thing,” Armie said. “Except for the rings and the cloak and the dog.” At the mention of him, Archie’s ears twitched, and he heaved a heavy sigh. “You worked for it. You worked for everything you have now. You are so strong, darling.” 

Timothée took the hairbrush and began to sort his hair out, and he heard the bed creak as Armie left the warmth. He saw Armie approach him in the mirror, and Armie placed his hands on Timothée’s shoulders and pressed his body to his. Armie’s hands fell from his shoulders down to his belly, and he softly caressed the bump. “Ursa,” Armie whispered as he coaxed his daughter into interaction. “Sweetheart. Daddy is here.” 

A firm kick landed on Armie’s hand, and he smiled. “She is active today,” Timothée said. “She has been moving and kicking all day.” 

“Does it feel odd?” Armie asked. “Her moving inside of you?” 

“Yes,” Timothée said. “It feels like… When you are nervous and your stomach is roiling with butterflies. I feel little butterflies each time she moves.” 

“Look at us,” Armie whispered as he gazed into the mirror. He saw a beautiful couple, one tan and one pale, one large and one small. He admired Timothée’s bump through his nightgown, and he began to gently pull up the skirt of the nightgown. Timothée gasped when the cold air hit his legs and waist, but he complied in helping Armie take off his clothes. Timothée shifted his eyes away from the mirror and looked up at his husband, and Armie softly kissed his lips. One of Armie’s hands moved from Timothée’s waist to his breast, and Timothée took in a small gasp when Armie turned him to face him. He immediately began to kiss down Timothée’s neck to his chest, and he mouthed at his breasts animalistically. Timothée's loved when Armie got like that; animal and feral and giving in to the most basic needs. Armie’s hands moved to Timothée’s legs and grasped his thighs, and he started to pull him up into his embrace, but Timothée pressed his hands to Armie’s chest to stop him. His breasts heaved as he took deep breaths, and he looked at his husband through his eyelashes. “Slower, sweetheart,” Timothée whispered. “We have all night. And the rest of our lives as well. There will be time for things like that.” 

Armie gnashed his teeth together and a feral growl slipped from him. “I must have you now,” he whispered. “You look gorgeous and smell delicious. Damn, I chose a good mate.” 

“You can have me now,” Timothée said. “But my back is aching and I am sore. It has to be slow, I beg of you.” 

“Of course,” Armie whispered. He was gentler as he kissed Timothée’s neck, his hands enveloping Timothée's waist. “God, I love you. When will you allow me to claim you?” 

At the mere mention of it, Timothée wrestled himself from Armie’s grasp. “I am not sure,” he said quickly. He retrieved his silken nightgown from the floor and slipped it back on, and he traversed to the water basin in the corner. He began to wash the makeup off of his face, trying to ignore Armie behind him. 

“What is wrong?” Armie asked. “Why does that upset you so much?” 

“Because what if I cannot give you a child?” Timothée asked. “What if every pregnancy I have ends badly? What happens if you claim me and I can never give this kingdom an heir? Your lineage will end with me, and you will be stuck with me because you claimed me too early!”

“I will not be stuck with you,” Armie said quickly. “God, I love you.” 

“I know, but…” Timothée began. “Queens do not have scars on their neck from shackles. Queens do not have brands on them. I am not suitable to be queen or your mate because of my life before you. What if the kingdom does not agree with me? There would be riots and-and I cannot have that pressure on me. The kingdom already hates me because they think we are still not married, and they think I am just a whore that you are infatuated with. I-I am not supposed to be queen. I am not supposed to be your mate.” 

“Yes, you are,” Armie said softly. He took Timothée’s hand and tugged him close, and he softly kissed his cheek. “You are supposed to be whatever I say you are. So, you are supposed to be queen and my mate. It is okay. The kingdom will love you.” 

Timothée sighed, and he pulled his hand from Armie and wrapped his arms around himself. “I just have a hard time believing you,” he mumbled. He made his way to the bed and sat down, and he slowly moved himself to lay under the blankets. Archie squirmed towards Timothée and rested his head on Timothée’s belly, and Timothée gave a faint smile and scratched his head. “Good boy,” he whispered. 

Armie was silent as he moved to the bed, and he laid down next to Timothée. He petted Archie’s back, and his hand slowly moved to lay atop Timothée’s. “I love you,” Armie said. “Please believe me when I tell you that. The wedding will be whenever you please, and your coronation will be whenever you please.” 

Timothée looked at Armie, his doe eyes glossy with tears. “I just do not want to let you down,” he whispered. 

Armie pulled Timothée close to him and kissed him softly. He felt Timothée’s tears stream down his cheeks and hit his own, and he wiped the tears up with his thumb. When their lips parted, Armie’s mouth tasted of tears. “You could never let me down.”


	12. Chapter 12

The bed was cold when Timothée woke up. Archie was snuggled up next to Timothée, his head resting on Timothée’s chest. In two days, Archie had already started warming up to Timothée, and he would follow him around the palace with small trots and growls when people got too close to Timothée. It was obvious that Archie was protective of Timothée and Ursa, and Timothée loved hugging the pup and letting him lick his belly. 

“Armie?” Timothée called with a raspy voice, and he sniffled. His whole head felt full of cotton, and everything sounded muffled. “Sweetheart?” 

There was no answer. He was not in the chambers. Timothée slowly stood up from the bed and shivered at the absence of the warmth of the blankets, and his whole body screamed in pain. It was a dull ache that was heavy in his joints, and Timothée sighed. He was sick. A good cold was a nice way to strike down the happy feeling of the day. His eighteenth birthday. 

Timothée wrapped a thick blanket around his shoulders, and he slowly padded to the cracked-open door of the chambers. “Armie?” He called weakly. A weak cough passed through his throat, and he took in a deep breath. 

After a few moments of silence, there was the sound of clinking metal, and Henry was in front of Timothée. His hair was free at his shoulders, thick with ebony curls, and his mismatched eyes were glowing. “Good morning, Timothée,” He said with a smile. “Happy birthday.” 

“Thank you, Henry,” Timothée said thickly. “Where is Armie?” 

“Setting up your present,” Henry said. “He stationed me here to keep you from wandering and finding the present early.” 

“He is silly,” Timothée said with a faint smile. “Can I have breakfast?” 

“Yes,” Henry said. “You sound sick. Maybe we should get you some orange juice.” 

The memory of the citric taste of juice filled Timothée’s mouth, and his stomach turned. He pressed his hand to his mouth and groaned, and he turned and fled to the restroom where he emptied his stomach. He had no idea if it was morning sickness or his illness, but he wiped his face with his hand and let a tear fall. “Timothée,” Henry said softly and rested his hand on Timothée’s back. “Morning sickness?” 

“Probably,” Timothée whispered. He stood up on shaky legs, and Henry slotted his hands under his arms and lifted him up into his arms. 

“Maybe you should be escorted to breakfast,” Henry said, and he situated the blanket around Timothée. 

“I want to see Armie,” Timothée whispered. “Please.” 

Henry nodded. “Of course.” 

The palace was cold, and Timothée snuggled close to Henry’s chest. He smelled like Alicia, and it was obvious just how in love they were with each other. The fact that Henry smelled like his wife was proof that they had slept close all night, and Timothée liked the idea that, after years of marriage and two children, they were still infatuated enough with each other to sleep side by side. As they made their way down the hall, Timothée could hear the sound of Armie faintly cussing. Timothée knew that, if he were at full strength, he would fuss at Armie for being so improper, but he let it go. 

They approached a room with an open door, and the stale smell of paint pervaded the air. “Your Majesty!” Henry called. “Your husband would like to see you!” 

There was a clatter and more cussing, and Armie appeared at the door. He was dressed in rags, his face unshaven with heavy circles under his eyes. He had pink and white stains on his clothes, and he had a slightly crazed look in his eyes. “Timmy,” he said with a big smile. “Are you sick?” 

Timothée coughed in response. 

“Oh, come here,” Armie whispered, and Henry quickly passed the pregnant omega off to the alpha. “Poor little thing. I guess I can give you your present early. It is not finished yet, though, so do not hate me.” 

“Never,” Timothée said with a sniffle. “But you gave me Christmas presents.” 

“And it is your birthday and I will give you birthday presents,” Armie said. “Any excuse to spoil you, really, I will take it.” He kissed Timothée’s warm forehead, and he turned towards the room. Without a word, he opened the door further with his foot, and Timothée’s heart thrummed in his chest. The room before them was a soft pink color, the window sill painted white. There was a magnificent crib at the wall, fitted with lacy linen sheets with an assortment of stuffed toys settled inside. There was a large armoire that had its doors thrown wide open, and various pink and white and purple outfits took up residence in it. There were some pictures on the wall, small sketches on scraps of paper that were framed and hung, and, on the wall above the crib, was a glorious display of white calligraphy that said ‘Ursa’. The floors were covered in rugs, and a soft chair sat by the window with a thick blanket over it. 

“Armie,” Timothée gasped. “Oh my God. A nursery.” 

“It is a few weeks away,” Armie said. “I had planned this to be a gift closer to the summer, but, when you told me a few nights ago about the charm, I got to work.” 

“It is beautiful,” Timothée breathed. He pulled himself from Armie’s grip and slowly padded across the room. His fingers grazed everything, the soft crib and blankets, and he carefully pulled up a small bear toy with a pink ribbon tied around its neck. “Little bear,” Timothée chuckled. He clutched the toy to his chest and looked around the room once more, and he approached one of the framed papers. A rough pencil sketch was on the paper of a woman holding a baby, but Timothée recognized the shape of his face and nose on the woman, and he saw himself holding their daughter. “Did you make these?” 

“I lose concentration in meetings,” Armie said with a shrug. 

Timothée laughed. “Armie, this is too much!” He exclaimed. “You did not have to do this!” 

“But I wanted to,” Armie said simply. “I like seeing you smile.” 

“Well, it worked,” Timothée grinned. He sighed contently and settled himself in the plush chair, and he looked out the window to see a wonderland of snow and glittering sunlight. “Oh, goodness, Armie. Our daughter… This is so surreal. I cannot…” He tearily reached for his husband’s hand, and he tugged Armie closer to him. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, little thing,” Armie said. “Would you like breakfast?” 

“Not anymore,” Timothée answered. 

“What do you want?” Armie asked. He lifted Timothée up into his arms and kissed his cheek, and Timothée whimpered. 

“You,” he whispered. “Knot me.” 

Armie kissed Timothée's head. “Of course,” he said. He wrapped his arms around Timothée and lifted him up into his grasp, and he gently kissed his lips before adjusting the blanket. “You are freezing, lover. You have to get back in bed.” 

“Armie, I am fine—” Timothée began. 

“Timothée,” Armie said with a hard voice. “That is an order from your king. Go get back in bed, and I will bring you breakfast.” 

Timothée whined and pressed his cheek to Armie’s shoulder. “But I want to stay with you,” he whispered. 

Armie jokingly sighed, and he whispered, “Fine. But you have to let me hold you to keep you warm.” 

“Like I would argue with that,” Timothée snorted, and he coughed. The chest cold was making it difficult to breathe. 

“Henry!” Armie called, and the general entered the room. “Go get Kal, please. He will be good at keeping this little thing warm.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Henry said, and he sent a smile towards Timothée before turning and leaving. 

“Kal?” Timothée asked. “Who is that?” 

“A good friend of Henry’s,” Armie said. “He is a bit large and hairy, so he will keep you warm.” 

An image came to Timothée’s mind of a large man covered in Viking-esque hair. He did not like the idea of that. “Is he nice?” Timothée asked meekly. 

“Very,” Armie replied. “Do not worry. I would not put you in the care of anybody who could hurt you. Kal is a hunter by blood, but he is a good boy.” 

Armie settled Timothée back in the plush chair, and he resumed his job of painting the edges of the walls. With his six-foot-five-inch frame, he could reach the tops of the walls easily if he stretched his arm and back a bit, and Timothée enjoyed the sight of his skin and muscles shifting to allow the movement. It reminded him of the way Armie’s back looked when his shoulders were touching Timothée’s knees, lavishing his body with his tongue and with his praise. Even in the depths of winter, Armie’s skin was tanned bronze and his hair had blond streaks hidden in the dark brown like the sun had dyed it. Armie caught his husband watching him as he worked, and he sent winks over to him, which always resulted in Timothée’s pudgy cheeks glowing pink and for him to avert his eyes and giggle like a child. 

Finally, the sound of heavy footsteps came from down the hall, and Armie smiled. “There he is now,” Armie said, and he called, “Kal! Come!” 

There was a sudden loud thump and a skittering, and suddenly a large black mass had jumped onto Timothée and started to lick him. A dog. Kal was a dog. Timothée felt relief wash through him as he scratched Kal behind his pointed ears, and Kal let out a grunt and darted his tongue out to kiss Timothée's cheek. He was not barking like Archie usually would when he got attention from Timothée, but he was grunting and groaning as he snuggled close to Timothée. 

“Kal, be careful,” Henry said softly. “Do you remember when your mother had Izzy in her? Timmy has a baby in him too.” 

Kal turned his head towards his master, and he placed a cute paw on Timothée’s belly. He let out a groan, and Henry smiled. “Good boy,” he said. “Protect the baby.” 

Kal rested his fuzzy head on Timothée’s chest and looked up at him with wide, dark eyes, and Timothée patted his head. “Kal is a good name for him,” Timothée said. “Kal Cavill.” 

“He is a good boy,” Henry said. “I got him when I returned from war some months ago. He helps me deal with the nightmares and he calms me down.” 

“A very good boy!” Timothée gasped and kissed Kal’s wet nose. “Protecting Daddy! Our dog could care less about his master.” 

“It is true,” Armie said from the corner of the room. “Archie favors Timothée more than I. I think he realizes that Timothée is a mother and that he must protect the baby.” 

“Dogs are very keen at protecting the ones who need it,” Henry said. “Kal is smitten with my daughter.” 

“Everybody is,” Armie laughed. “It is hard not to fancy that cute nose.” 

“Yes, she is sweet,” Henry smiled. “Kal even seems to know when she is upset before we do, because he will come wake us up at night, and Izzy will begin to cry a few moments later.” 

“Do you think Archie will do that?” Timothée asked his husband. 

“I am sure he will,” Armie said. “Archie is very loving.” 

“Very,” Timothée said and petted Kal’s warm back. “What a good boy this is. How are the puppies and the wife?” 

“The puppies are very lively,” Henry said with a wide smile. “Joe got a toy dog for Christmas, and he has not let go of it since. Izzy does not understand what Christmas is yet, so she does not understand presents, but she got a precious bow for her hair.” 

“How cute,” Timothée said. 

“Henry?” Armie began and turned to him. “Can you leave us for a moment?” 

“Of course,” Henry said, and he bowed before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Armie placed the paintbrush down and moved to Timothée, and he leaned over Kal and kissed his husband's warm mouth. 

“When do you want our wedding?” Armie asked. 

“We are already married,” Timothée said softly. “Would this one just be for show?” 

“Yes,” Armie said. “The kingdom does not know we are married yet.” 

Timothée pressed his lips together as he thought. “I would like for us to be publicly married before Ursa arrives, so it would be soon.” 

“On the new year?” Armie suggested. “Our kiss at midnight will lead into a new year and a new era for the kingdom.” 

Timothée nodded slowly. “I like that,” he said softly. “But can it be arranged in four days?” 

“I am sure that we can manage it,” Armie said with a smile. He gave a content sigh and sat on the arm of the chair to be close to the omega, and he let his scent enter his nose. It was musky and dark, and Armie knew what that meant. “Is your heat close?” 

“I think so,” Timothée mumbled. “Maybe that is why I am sick; my body is weakened by my upcoming heat.” 

“Most likely,” Armie whispered. “So, we will both be out of commission for a week or so.” 

“Both of us?” Timothée asked. 

Armie looked down at the omega, wide doe eyes and flushed cheeks and curls that touched his shoulders, and he said, “Yes. You are my husband and the mother of my child. You cannot expect me to resist you when you are in heat. I will be buried inside you for the whole week, making sure that you are satisfied.” 

“Oh,” Timothée said softly. “Well… Yes, both of us, then.” 

Armie nodded. He took Timothée’s cold hand and kissed his knuckles, and he looked around the room at his work. “Do you like it?” He asked. 

“The nursery?” Timothée asked. “I love it. It is so thoughtful to do it yourself.” 

“Of course,” Armie said. “I would have let you help me, but you were sleeping very well when I woke up to start.” 

“When did you start?” Timothée asked. 

“I had some woodworkers already making the crib and chair and armoire,” Armie began. “I just told them to work a bit faster to be done by today. My mother helped mix the paints and she sewed many of the outfits. I got up very early to start painting; it was before the sun even came up.” 

“Oh, goodness, Armie,” Timothée whispered and squeezed Armie’s large hand. “This is… The nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I cannot believe that you would even…” 

“That I would make a nursery for our child?” Armie chuckled. 

“That you would care enough about me,” Timothée mumbled. “Nobody has ever cared about me this much, and I… Goodness, I am overwhelmed. This is gorgeous; Ursa is the luckiest little girl.” 

Armie smiled and leaned down to kiss Timothée again, and he pulled away after a moment. “Now, my queen,” he whispered. “Let us go eat. Ursa needs some food. You do, too.”

_____

It hit him like a brick. Timothée was sitting peacefully at dinner, laughing and smiling with Armie and his compatriots, and then there was a twist in his gut and a fiery heat bloomed in his chest. The air was suddenly stiflingly hot, and a sweat broke out on the back of his neck. Maybe his heat was worse because he was pregnant. Whatever the reason, he let out a groan at the sudden desire in his veins. 

Armie snapped his head towards Timothée immediately. “Timmy,” he whispered. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” Timothée whimpered. “Alpha— Heat.” 

Armie’s eyes widened for a moment, and he said, “Oh.. I could smell it this morning. Let us go to bed.” Then, he turned to the dinner guests and said, “I apologize, but Timothée feels under the weather. Excuse us.” 

Timothée clung to the alpha until they reached their chambers, where Armie locked the door and started groping Timothée’s legs and breasts. “Such a good omega,” he growled. “Take off that dress and let me fuck you.” 

Timothée whimpered and reached around behind him to where his dress was tied up. His fingers shook as he fumbled for the laces, and Armie kissed his neck as he pushed Timothée’s hands away. He grabbed the laces and tore them from the dress, earning a gasp from the omega, and he ripped the dress off of Timothée’s frame. Timothée could practically smell his own hormones, and he sniffled as his eyes began to water. The very thought of Armie made him want to cry. He was so needy to be dominated, and Armie was more than happy to indulge him. “Poor little thing,” Armie said softly and kissed Timothée’s shoulders. “Already so wet, such a good omega.” 

Without warning, Armie pushed two thick fingers into Timothée’s quivering hole, and Timothée cried out in pleasure. That was what he wanted, what he needed on a very animal, primal level. He wanted Armie to bite his neck and claim him, bloody up the sheets and make him wholly his. The rational part of his mind knew that it was better to wait, but that did not stop him from begging. “Armie,” he whimpered. “Claim me. Please, please, alpha, please!” 

“Not now, love,” Armie whispered. He pulled his fingers out and Timothée gasped at the loss, and Armie lifted him up onto the bed. Timothée situated himself on his hands and knees, opening his legs and exposing himself fully to his alpha. There was the shuffle of clothes being pulled off from behind Timothée, and he moaned when Armie finally slid his burning manhood in-between his fleshy cheeks. The tip nudged the tight rim of his ass, and Timothée pushed back wantonly, wanting Armie inside him as soon as possible. “Wait,” Armie snapped. It was clear that his instincts were taking over, but Timothée did not mind. 

“Alpha,” Timothée gasped. His arms shook and he felt as if he would collapse at any moment, and he balled his fists up in the blankets. 

“God, you are so needy,” Armie purred. “So wet; you just want me, right? In any way you can have me?” 

“Yes, sir,” Timothée panted. “I-I, alpha!” His head felt fuzzy and he was even more detached from the world than usual. 

“Settle down,” Armie said. “You are falling into a submissive headspace. Calm down, take a few breaths. Do you still feel sick?” 

“Yes,” Timothée mumbled. 

“Lay on your back,” Armie said gently, and he pulled away from his omega. He removed himself from the bed and watched as Timothée fell onto his back, his legs quivering, and he went into the drawer of the table next to the bed. “I had this made for you when you first got here. I had it saved for your next heat.” 

Armie withdrew a length of metal, a bulb in the middle with a flat circle at the end. Timothée knew what it was, and he opened his legs for Armie to push it in. “Alpha…” He whimpered. 

Armie laid back on the bed and put himself in-between Timothée’s legs. He kissed his knee and thighs, then licked over his hole. His hands were tight on Timothée’s waist as he kissed him and pushed fingers in and out of him, the plug forgotten, and Timothée was shaking with need. Finally, Armie retrieved the plug and massaged his hole open with the pads of his fingers, then carefully pushed in the cold metal. Timothée gasped and his head fell back as he was stretched around the plug, and he whimpered when it was fully buried in him. It felt so good for him, and he knew that, while he would have preferred Armie, they had business they had to get back to. “Is this okay?” Armie whispered. 

Timothée nodded quickly. He reached out and took Armie’s hand and tugged him up to kiss his mouth, hot and hungry, Armie’s tongue tasting Timothée’s sweet mouth. Armie’s hand fell to Timothée’s breasts— by far his favorite part of Timothée’s body— and he squeezed gently as he sucked on Timothée’s bottom lip. “Would you like me to help you?” Armie asked softly and gave a tight squeeze to Timothée’s nipple, and Timothée nodded. 

“Yes, sir,” Timothée whispered. “A-Armie, I… Fuck.” 

Armie buried his face in Timothée’s chest and began to greedily suckle the milk from his breast, and Timothée sighed. He loved Armie so much, especially with all of the conventionally odd things he did to please him, and a thought passed through his head: Forever. 

_Forever_ , Armie’s voice whispered in Timothée’s ear, and Timothée jumped in shock. “Armie,” he whispered. He had only heard about it. He never knew they were real. “Is that… I can hear your thoughts!” 

“Pair bond,” Armie chuckled. “You trust me. You have your full trust in me now. You are my mate now… Forever.” 

Timothée let out a sob of happiness. A mate. Armie was his husband, yes, and the father of his child, but he was now finally his mate. “Forever,” he whispered, and softly kissed Armie’s mouth. Armie smiled into the kiss and clutched Timothée’s face, and he began to laugh. 

_Would you like to go back to dinner?_ Armie asked through the bond. 

_No_ , Timothée replied. He could feel that Armie had a dark feeling deep inside of him, some sort of regret or fear, and he broke the kiss. “You have a strange energy,” he said softly. “Is everything alright?” 

“I am happy, love,” Armie said. “Why would I have a strange energy?” 

“You regret something,” Timothée whispered. “Something about me?” 

Armie sighed. “Not you,” He said. “But I…” He was struggling with telling Timothée something, and Timothée suddenly saw flashes of fights. Bloody fights, swords and arrows and knives. Men surrounding him, some burned, some stabbed; all dead. Timothée felt a surge of fear in his chest, and he looked down to see a heavy sword covered in blood clutched in his fist. There was the distressed whinnying of a horse behind him, and he turned just in time to watch the horse collapse and crush the man riding it. He felt himself running, grabbing the man’s arms, trying in vain to rescue him. He pulled him out enough to access his chest, and he saw the thick metal armor crumpled like tissue. His chest was a haunting cavity. There was no saving him. 

Timothée gasped, and he saw Armie in front of him. Timothée’s eyes were burning and streaming tears, and he struggled to catch his breath. “Armie—” He panted. “Was that… Is that…?” 

“I was about twenty or so,” Armie mumbled. “War was… You saw my father. He fought like a hellion, but, in the end, it was out of his control. I regret not being able to save him.” 

“Armie, you could not have done anything,” Timothée whispered. “It was not your fault.” 

Armie bit the inside of his cheek. “It feels like it,” he mumbled. 

Timothée pressed his hand to Armie’s cheek, and he pulled him close so that their foreheads touched. He remembered the night Madeline was born, the primal fear in his chest at the feeling of the contractions, the way his breath would not stay in his lungs, how his throat was wrecked from screaming. He remembered the look of her, covered in blood, her eyes squeezed shut, crying loudly and clenching her fists. He remembered bringing her to his neck and carefully cutting the umbilical cord on a jagged corner of his collar that had etched scars into his own neck. He remembered the sound of sobs; whether his or hers, he had no idea. He remembered the damp cold of the cellar; the whispers of the other slaves, trying to calm him down. And he remembered the only words he said to Madeline, repeated over and over all night: “I will never let them get you.” 

“Timothée,” Armie whispered. His eyes were glossy with tears at seeing the memory, and he whispered, “Was that real?” 

“That was Madeline,” Timothée whispered. “The night she was born.” 

“You were fifteen?” Armie asked quietly. “God. I am so sorry. I could never imagine… Going through something like that when you were this young.” 

“It was only three years ago,” Timothée whispered. “I do not even know what day she was born, because I had been in the cellar for so long that I had no concept of time anymore. I wish I knew.” 

Armie kissed Timothée, holding him tightly. He felt Timothée’s skin still thrumming with his heat, but that was all forgotten. His mate was there, protecting him, and Timothée knew that he had the rest of his life to spend in Armie’s embrace. One night would not kill him.


	13. Chapter 13

“Oh, my goodness!” Alicia cried and hugged Timothée as tight as she could. “You are married!” 

“I have been married for a while,” Timothée chuckled, and Alicia batted his shoulder. 

“But the kingdom knows now!” Alicia smiled. “Oh, my goodness, Timothée. You are the queen. Your Majesty!” 

Timothée giggled and clutched Alicia’s hands. “It is exciting,” he grinned. “I can hardly believe it. Three months ago, I was a slave, and now I am the queen!” 

“Congratulations, Timmy,” Alicia said and hugged Timothée again. “And where is your beloved?” 

Timothée looked around the crowded ballroom in pursuit of his fellow monarch, and he finally spotted the tall blond man by the drinks table with Henry. “With your beloved, I am afraid,” Timothée chuckled. “They are drunk, no doubt.” 

“Of course, they are,” Alicia smiled. “These two men cannot be together without drinking.” 

“Sadly, none for me,” Timothée said and patted his belly. In response, Ursa kicked his palm. She was shifting every few minutes, and Timothée's secretly loved watching his skin stretch to accommodate her foot. 

Alicia took a taunting sip from her goblet, and she giggled, “Luckily for me, I am no longer pregnant.” 

“Where are Joe and Izzy?” Timothée asked. “Is Kal playing the babysistter?” 

“No, no,” Alicia said. “They are running around here somewhere. Probably playing with Archie, honestly. Izzy just loves animals, what a precious girl. If she so much as sees a cockroach, she is smiling and laughing.” 

“She is a special one,” Timothée smiled. “When I see a cockroach, I try to save him, or else Armie tries to kill him. I once asked him what the bug had ever done to him to deserve death, and Armie was stumped and let the bug live.” 

“He will listen to anything you tell him,” Alicia said. “He is so hopelessly devoted to you, it is a dream. You could probably tell him that people can go to the moon and he would believe you.” 

Timothée grinned and heard his dog bark from across the ballroom, and there was a loud shriek of laughter. “Archie!” Joe’s little voice called, and Timothée carefully pushed through the crowd to see Archie on his back, rolling and huffing and sneezing, Joe holding Izzy and giggling hysterically. 

“Oh, goodness,” Timothée chuckled. “Is the hound playing, Joe? Let me hold your sister and you can play with Archie.” 

Joe was careful as he gave the blanket-wrapped Izzy to Timothée, and he held her tightly against his chest as Joe laid down on the floor and began to roll around with Archie. He heard Alicia fuss at Joe for getting his nice clothes dirty, but he was focused on the gorgeous baby in his arms. Izzy was truly a beauty, and she opened her mouth to expose pink gums, and she cooed at Timothée. She babbled lightly for a moment, then reached out for Timothée’s head. He knew that his crown was reflecting the light, the diamonds shining like no other, and he figured that the baby was enamored by the twinkling jewels. 

“Oh, how I love the sight!” Armie exclaimed, and he suddenly wrapped his arms around Timothée. “My husband, holding a baby. The queen, comforting the next generation of our kingdom. What a thing to look at.” 

Timothée smiled, and he lightly kissed Armie’s rough cheek. “Not too much longer until we have our own,” he said. “She is due this month. Only a few weeks.” 

“A few weeks,” Armie said with a grin. “That sounds marvelous. She will be a Capricorn, yes?” 

“Do not start with Capricorns,” Timothée smiled. “We are a noble brand.” 

“Of course, you are,” Armie said. “I was only remarking that she will be like her mother.” 

Timothée looked down at Izzy and saw her looking around, and he called, “Lici! Somebody wants you!” 

Alicia turned to Timothée's and Izzy, and the baby girl immediately started to laugh and grab for her mother. “Oh, my precious thing,” Alicia sighed contently and took Izzy into her arms. “My little muffin, my baby girl.” 

“Ah, now, she will never stop,” Henry said, approaching Armie. “Once you get her started on the pet names for the children, she never stops.” 

“What will you call Ursa?” Timothée asked. “Something sweet, yes?” 

“Of course,” Armie said and put his arm around Timothée’s waist. “Strawberry, or sweetheart, or—”

“Oh my goodness,” Timothée sighed. “Strawberries sound delightful. Do we have any?” 

“Yes,” Armie said. “Grapes, as well. Would you like some?” 

“Please,” Timothée gasped. “Thank you, husband.” 

“You are welcome, husband,” Armie said and kissed Timothée’s pink-painted lips, then left in search of the fruit. Timothée watched him as he left, and his hands rested gently on his belly. He was so thankful for the tiny human inside of him, a wonderful girl omega to inherit the kingdom. 

“You are already such a doting mother,” Henry said softly. “Ursa is a lucky little girl.” 

“Thank you,” Timothée said. “But I doubt that luck has anything to do with it. She is just born to grateful parents.” 

“Grateful,” Henry chuckled. “I have never seen His Majesty so happy.” He gestured across the ballroom to where Armie was dancing with Aldwin gleefully, his quest for fruit forgotten. “I have told you before, but no omega before you has made him this way. He never even came close to proposing to the others, and here he is, after three months, already married. You are special to him, there is no doubt.” 

Timothée smiled, and he blew a kiss at Armie. The older man immediately came back to Timothée and kissed his cheek, and Timothée giggled. “Armie,” he said. “Strawberries?” 

“Ah, fuck,” Armie mumbled, and Timothée gasped. “I am sorry, love.” 

Timothée sighed. “Do not use that word. But it is okay.” 

Armie wrapped an arm around his queen and kissed him gently; his lips tasted of champagne. When the kiss broke, Armie chuckled, and he leaned in close to Timothée’s ear. “I can smell your heat,” he whispered. “You are desperate, no?” 

“I am,” Timothée whispered. “Can others…?” 

“Henry has told me that he is watching over you when I am not with you,” Armie mumbled. “Can you last much longer, or do we need to take care of it now?”

“I…” Timothée mumbled. “I think now.” 

“Alright,” Armie said. “I will tell Henry, and we can go.” 

Timothée was impatient as he waited for the conversation to be over, and finally Armie pulled him up to their chambers. He locked the door tightly, then said, “Take off your dress. If I take it off, it will be ripped.” 

Timothée nodded and began to undo the lacing, and finally the dress sagged off of his chest. Armie instantly began to kiss his shoulders and neck, his hands shaking as he grasped Timothée’s waist. It seemed as if the king needed this more than the queen did. Timothée carefully removed his crown and placed it on the table beside the bed, then turned and did the same with Armie’s crown. Timothée tilted his head and admired his husband for a minute, and a smile crossed his lips. “I love you,” He whispered. “More than anything in the world. I love you, I love you, I love you. _Je t’aime, Majesté_.” 

Armie chuckled. “Where did that come from?” He asked. 

“What?” Timothée asked. 

“The French,” Armie said. “You just spoke French to me.” 

“Oh,” Timothée said softly. “My father spoke it, and he taught me, I suppose. Do you mind it?” 

“Not at all,” Armie smiled. He softly kissed Timothée’s head, then his hands slid up his body to his face, and Armie clutched Timothée’s cheeks. “You are gorgeous. God, I am so lucky.” 

Timothée presses forward and kissed Armie softly, and Armie reciprocated with a deeper passion. Timothée blindly rushed to pull off his dress fully, and he finally stumbled back onto the bed. “Armie,” he whispered. “Please, sweetheart.” 

Armie hurriedly undressed himself, and he crawled on top of Timothée and kissed his belly. “Oh, my queen,” he moaned. 

“Armie,” Timothée whined. 

Armie knew that, when Timothée whined, it was a cue to start already. Armie carefully pulled out the warm plug that had kept the omega satisfied for the past days, and he instantly caught the heady scent of his husband’s slick. His hole was red and gaping from the plug, slick leaking out and making him positively glisten. It was the most delicious sight on earth, and Armie instantly sheathed himself deep inside the omega. Timothée yelped lightly at the sudden intrusion of him, but he mewled and let his head fall back. “God,” He whimpered, and he reached up to grasp Armie’s hair. “Hard. Fast.” 

“Really?” Armie asked. “Are you certain?” 

“Yes!” Timothée cried. “Please!” 

Armie chuckled, and he grasped Timothée’s hips and slid himself in deeper. “What a way to christen a marriage,” he smiled, and Timothée wrapped his legs around Armie’s waist. “Timmy… I know you want that, and I want that too, but… It does not feel right. I want you softly, quietly. Kissing and holding your hand, and…” Armie trailed off and gently kissed Timothée’s open mouth, and Timothée grasped Armie’s hair tightly. “Can you do slow?” 

“Yes,” Timothée whispered. 

Armie shifted on the bed so that his pregnant omega was comfortable, and he slowly began to make love to his husband. Armie carefully leaned forward and kissed Timothée’s neck, leaving soft marks in his wake, and Timothée’s chest was heaving as Armie kissed all of the right places. The fire was in his chest and his belly, burning hotter and hotter with every kiss, and Timothée felt a tear slip from his eyes. 

_Do not cry_ , Armie told him through the bond. _I am here. I will protect you_. 

Timothée gasped and buried his face in Armie’s shoulder. “Never let me go,” he whispered aloud. 

“I would never think of it,” Armie whispered. “I love you, darling.” He held Timothée’s face close to his chest and kissed his head, and Timothée dug his fingernails deep into Armie’s back. 

A sob escaped Timothée’s mouth, and Armie whispered, “What is wrong? Does something hurt?” 

“No,” Timothée sniffled. He kissed Armie’s shoulder and let out a giggle, and he said, “I am just happy. A husband, and a child… A whole kingdom who loves me. I never thought that anybody would care about me in this way. I… I never thought I would live to be eighteen. I am so grateful for you, and for Ursa, and… Everybody. I love this, Armie.” 

Armie could not help but let a tear fall as well. Timothée's emotions were bubbling up blue and purple in Armie’s mind, memories of Timothée’s happiest moments, and he was in nearly all of them. Their first kiss, given to Timothée by surprise; when Timothée told Armie he was pregnant and the gleam that came across Armie’s eyes that even he was unaware had happened; and earlier that same night, when he kneeled before his king and bowed his head, and the royal crown of diamonds was placed on his head. Armie delved further into that memory and saw everything from Timothée’s eyes: the cheering, the cries of “Hail to the Queen!”, the look on Armie’s face as he gazed upon his queen. He did not realize that he could ever be read that easily, for his love to be so presented, but a pink tinge surrounded the sight of Armie. “Timothée,” Armie whispered. “Do you really look at me like that?” 

“Every time,” Timothée whispered. “You are always surrounded by my love.” 

Armie lowered his head and took in a sob, and he whispered, “Timmy, I… God, I cannot express just how much I love you. Words fail me. I have never loved anyone as strongly or as deeply as I love you. It is so difficult for me to explain because I did not think that you felt the same.” 

Timothée laughed breathlessly. “Are you stupid?” He giggled. “I loved you the first moment I saw you. I-I knew from the first word you said to me that I wanted to be safe with you.” 

“You are safe,” Armie whispered. “You will never be harmed again. I will have my army on high alert to keep you and your heart safe.” 

Timothée smiled. “This is nice,” he whispered. “But I am close to finishing.” 

“Oh!” Armie exclaimed. “Of course! Yes, I apologize. Of course.” 

Timothée tugged Armie down to kiss him, and he rocked his hips up into Armie’s in an effort to help him finish. Timothée panted and mewled, begging Armie to go faster and being gently chastised for it. Finally, Armie muttered, “Sorry, but I… Fuck.” 

“Please, no knot,” Timothée said quickly. 

“Alright,” Armie whispered. He slowly withdrew himself from Timothée, his rock-hard cock glistening with Timothées slick, and Timothée felt the fire in his core bloom as he watched his husband finish himself with his hand. His seed landed on Timothée’s chest and in Armie’s chest hair, but Timothée loved the sight. He sat up with minor difficulty and pulled Armie to him, and he began to lick up the seed, swallowing down the musky fluids. Armie chuckled and tangled his fingers in Timothée’s curls, and he gently caressed his head. “You are like a kitten,” Armie remarked. 

Timothée let out a playful growl and licked up the last bit of his semen, and he laid on his back and looked at his husband. “Help me?” He asked. 

Armie lowered himself onto the floor, on his knees, and he pulled Timothée to the edge of the bed. He hooked his lithe legs over his shoulders, then began to kiss his thighs. “Do you remember…” Armie began. “How I kneeled before you once, and you told me that I should never kneel for another man?” 

“Yes,” Timothée whispered. 

“I am kneeling now,” Armie said. “And I do not bend the knee for an ordinary man. I bend the knee for the queen.” 

Timothée cried out when Armie took him into his mouth, and Armie began to greedily suck. He wanted Timothée to finish so that he could hold him and further explore the language that Timothée apparently knew. Armie was too impatient, though, and he pulled off of Timothée. “Say something in French,” he requested. “No. No more English. _Ne parle que français, ma chérie_.” 

Timothée nodded, and he was prepared for Armie to take him in his mouth this time. His breathing quickened and his thighs tightened around Armie’s head, and he whispered, “Armie, _je suis sur le point de finir. Dépêche-toi, s'il te plait_.” He squeezed his eyes shut upon the insertion of one of Armie’s fingers into his hole, and he took in a biting gasp as he felt himself relax and release. He barely had the mind to consider that his cock was still in husband's mouth, but it did not matter; Armie swallowed every drop. “Armie, Armie… God.” 

“You were so perfect,” Armie whispered. He removed is finger and found it wet, just like his cock, and he smiled. “Still so wet.” 

“No, no,” Timothée panted. He scrambled up into his elbows, and he was suddenly overcome with such a strong emotion. He pitched forward with a soft cry, and he began to scream, “No, no!” 

“What is wrong?” Armie asked quickly. He immediately feared that something went wrong with Ursa, and he clutched Timothée’s face. “What happened?” 

“I am in labor!” Timothée sobbed. “I-I— Fuck! Get Alicia and Esther a-and Saoirse, she is downstairs. Hurry, please!”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year friends! enjoy!

“Henry!” Armie cried. “It has been a full day! I do not know if I can take this! I can hear him screaming in pain, something must be done!” 

“Easy, Armie,” Henry said soothingly. “I know how much this hurts. That pair bond is loud today, yes?” 

At that moment, inside of Armie’s head, he could only see quick flashes of Madeline, and his whole body would jerk at a sudden shriek. “Unbearable,” Armie muttered. “But he is in so much pain, and he is scared. I cannot do anything? Bullshit!” 

“You are not allowed to do anything,” Henry said firmly. “It was like this before—” 

“But I was not married to the others before!” Armie cried. “I need to see him!” 

“Your Majesty,” Henry snapped. “You cannot. We cannot risk an alpha being in that room. Do you know how many emotions and hormones are in that room? Many alphas claim that they can be by their omegas during childbirth, and then, they catch the scent, and they lose it. I know; it happened to me when Joe was born. Remember? When you chained me in the cellar?” 

“It is my husband,” Armie snarled. “And my daughter, I need to be there for them! And what about the doctor! Surely, he is an alpha!” 

“He is,” Henry said. “But he has no real emotional connection to Timothée or to Ursa, like you do. It cannot be risked, Armie. Do we need to take a walk to calm down?” 

“No!” Armie shouted. “I-I need to do something. I— I want to fight.” 

“Those are your instincts,” Henry said as a scream ripped through Armie’s head. “Your mind is telling you to protect your omega from something, and your instincts are telling you to fight. You cannot do that.” 

“Sword fight, then,” Armie said sharply. “Something, anything. I am jumping out of my skin.” 

“We have paperwork, Armie,” Henry said. “Let us sit and calm down. You need a distraction, something peaceful. Violence will make everything worse.” 

Armie huffed out a sigh and sank down into his chair, and he began to sort through the papers on the table in front of him. He passed certain ones off to Henry without even looking at their contents, and he studied the grain of the wood table. His husband, his Timothée, was in pain and needed someone to comfort him. “Look,” Henry said. “Sua Maestà Luca sent an invitation to Sua Altezza Lēn’s wedding. Will you be attending?” 

“Yes,” Armie said gruffly. “Provided Timothée can go. The wedding is the first week of February, we have a month to recover, and we will have a newborn with us, the logistics of it are—” 

“Calm down,” Henry said gently. “Yes or no?” 

“Yes,” Armie sighed. 

“Perfect,” Henry said. Then, he looked at the invitation again and mumbled, “Oh. It also seems that a console from France will be joining the wedding party. The monarchs, in fact.” 

“Fantastic,” Armie groaned. “And why are they listed specifically?” 

“Because it says that…” Henry began. “Apparently, they are Lēn’s birth parents. She is the princess of Genovia and of France. Interesting.” 

“Very,” Armie grunted. “What else is there?” 

Henry sorted through the papers again, placing the invitation aside, and he said, “Ah, an arrest notice. One Leonardo… DiCaprio. On charges of omega coercion.” 

“What?” Armie snapped and snatched the paper from Henry. There, in plain ink, stated that Alicia’s alternate had been arrested whilst offering money to an omega in exchange for certain “services”. He was charged with time in prison, however long the king desired. Armie remembered Timothée telling him that Leo was the one to start the short-lived rumor of Henry and Timothée. Three accounts of treason, omega coercion; this demanded an execution. “What to do, what to do…” Armie mused and stood up from his chair. “Leo, the one who assaulted his queen. Leo, the one to spread falsehoods about his queen and the highest general. Leo, the one to try to buy an omega’s love. What to do with him?” 

“Armie, I know what you are thinking of,” Henry said quickly and stood up as well. “No execution. He was never charged for the other crimes, and it is too late to charge him. Calm down—”

“Calm down!” Armie thundered and slammed his hand against the table. “Do you know how infuriating that is to hear? My husband is dying! My husband is screaming and dying and he needs me, but I cannot be there! You say that I will lose my mind if I go in, but I am losing my mind not being in the room! And you tell me to calm down!” He quickly advanced on Henry and took him by the collar of his shirt, and he said, “Let me see Timothée, now!” 

“We cannot risk it!” Henry snarled and shoved Armie off of him. “Obtuse prick. You could kill the child! You do know that, in the wild, wolves will kill the weakest of the litter? Wolves have the same dynamics we do, and it has happened before! If the baby is too weak, the alpha will instinctively kill the baby! Ursa will be too weak because of who her mother is, and there is no doubt that you would kill her!”

“‘Who her mother is’?” Armie repeated. “What do you mean by that?” 

“Her mother is eighteen!” Henry cried. “I love Timothée as if he were my brother, but even I have to admit that he is weak! He is underfed and small, and he has already birthed— and lost!— a child! The chances of him delivering her alive, or him surviving the birth, they are slim! You will go to sleep tonight with either a daughter or a husband— not both. Maybe even neither.” 

“How dare you speak like that?” Armie cried. “You wish death upon the queen?” 

“I do not wish!” Henry said. “I am saying that I know! I have seen the numbers, I have seen the instances— One of these will happen, and we do not know which one it will be!” 

“But God forbid, I get to have a happy life!” Armie said. “A spouse, a child, a fucking dog— You can have those things but I cannot! Why is that? Maybe you should have a go at being king, since you seem to have a perfect—”

Silence. There was silence in Armie’s head. He stopped talking immediately, and he looked towards to door. It was cracked open, and Alicia stood there. She was in a state of half-dress, her hair out of her bun, a shine on her forehead. “Your Majesty,” she said. “You have a princess.” 

“And Timothée?” Armie asked softly. 

“Weak,” Alicia said. “Tired. He lost a lot of blood. It will be days before he is right again. He must stay in bed until Michael tells us—”

“He is alive?” Armie asked. “And Ursa is, as well?” 

“Both are alive, yes,” Alicia said. “Would you like to meet her?” 

Armie was immediately filled with an unexplainable joy, and he whooped. “I have a daughter!” He cried. “Yes, I would love to meet her!” 

Alicia led Armie up to his chambers. The silence in his head was slightly alarming, but he was thankful that there was no more screaming. The door to his chambers was shut tightly, and Armie looked to Alicia for permission before placing his hand on the knob. “Remember,” Alicia began. “Timothée is very weak. He barely survived. He may not feel like talking or interacting much, so do not be offended by it.” 

Armie nodded, then opened the door. Instantly, he was hit with the scent of blood, as well as a deep scent that could only have come from his omega. Fear. Timothée was scared. Armie carefully entered the room, the floorboards creaking under his feet, and he saw the curtains on the bed drawn, hiding Timothée from view. He looked around, trying to find any trace of the doctor or the other women, but he heard voices in the sitting room, and he figured they were there. “Timmy?” Armie asked softly, and there was a soft rustling of bedsheets. 

“Armie.” His voice was gone. It cracked and fell out, and Timothée cleared his throat after he spoke. “Come here, please.” 

Armie slowly approached the bed and hesitated for a moment before he pulled the curtains open. He saw his husband laying in the bed, covered in sweat, his cheeks and chest red. He was glowing, though, a mother’s glow. His long hair was pushed off to one side, his eyes bright, and a smile on his lips. Of course, it was difficult not to smile at the baby on his chest. She was gorgeous. A smattering of blonde hair on top of her head, fair skin, her cheeks red. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her hands in fists, and she was squirming slightly. She was fussing a bit, but Timothée gave a gentle hush, and she fell silent and a small smile curled onto her pink lips. Ursa. The princess. “Timothée,” Armie whispered. “Timmy! Oh my God!” 

Timothée smiled wider. “Would you like to hold her?” He asked softly. 

“Yes!” Armie exclaimed lightly. He opened his arms for his daughter, and Timothée carefully gave her to him. He held her tight to his chest, and he smoothed his hand down her soft head. She fussed again for a moment, then her eyes opened. A magnificent hazel, just like her mother. She gazed upon her father much in the same way that Armie was gazing upon her, and she let out a bubbling laugh. 

“Daddy’s girl,” Timothée said softly, and Armie laughed breathlessly. 

“I am a father,” he whispered. “I-I have a daughter.” 

“She is precious,” Timothée said softly. “We have a good life ahead of us.” 

“Yes,” Armie nodded. “The kingdom has a great heir. Her Highness Ursa Wymarc Hammer, Crown Princess of Borovia. You were right; a big title for a little pup.” 

“She might be getting hungry,” Timothée said. “Let me feed her.” 

Armie passed Ursa back to Timothée, and the omega lifted his daughter up to his breast and offered her a swollen nipple. Armie could sense that Timothée was nervous and full of doubt, which was understandable. In an instant, Ursa had latched her little mouth onto her mother and began to suckle the milk from his breast, and Timothée audibly sighed. Armie sat down on an empty space on the bed next to Timothée, and he wrapped an arm around his husband, holding him tightly. “I cannot believe…” Armie whispered. “She is here. She is born.”

“Her christening will be tomorrow, yes?” Timothée asked. 

“Yes,” Armie nodded. “I am sure the news has hit the village already, and it will spread to the rest of the kingdom in no time.” 

Timothée continued to admire Ursa, and her little first came up to grasp Timothée’s little finger. The mother and daughter locked eyes for a few moments, then Timothée began to weep. “My Ursa,” he mumbled. “My daughter.” 

“Do not cry,” Armie chuckled. 

“I am happy,” Timothée said. “This is a good cry.” 

“Good,” Armie said. “Her crib is being moved into the corner, then?” 

“I thought I could be apart from her,” Timothée whispered. “But I cannot. I need to watch over her and make sure she is okay. Such a small thing… I had no idea that humans could be this little.” 

It was true. Ursa was barely the size of Timothée’s forearm, her head resting easily in his palm and her feet just below the crook of his elbow. She was bare chested, as naked as her mother was, and Armie suddenly felt an intense desire to strip nude and lay skin-to-skin with his family. He stood up and began to undress, and Timothée looked at him with a faint smile. Armie easily slipped under the bedsheets and pressed himself against Timothée’s warm body, and his arm rested just under Timothée’s, so that he was holding Ursa as well. “Will we teach her French?” Timothée asked. 

“Yes,” Armie whispered. “And I will teach her the history of her kingdom.” 

“Henry can teach her mathematics,” Timothée continued. 

“And Alicia can teach her all about our god,” Armie said. “What a smart girl she shall be.” 

“What a lucky girl she is,” Timothée said. “Having you for a father.” 

“She has you for a mother,” Armie said. “That is luck by itself.”

_____

Henry met Ursa after Armie’s mother did. Timothée hardly talked to Armie’s mother, but she was delicate as she held Ursa, and that made Timothée warm up to her. Henry was equally as gentle with Ursa, cradling her securely and singing little songs to her. He was Uncle Henry. Ursa smiled and tugged on his braid, and he kissed her forehead. 

Night fell, and Timothée had yet to move from his spot on the bed. Every time he started to get up, Armie would keep him in bed; “Doctor’s orders,” he stated. He gave Timothée food and books to read, and he provided entertainment in the form of recounting his experiences from the past day. “Henry and I were at each other's throats all day,” Armie chuckled lightly. “I could not stand the sight of him.” 

“Everything is right now, though, yes?” Timothée asked. 

“Yes,” Armie nodded. “I apologized.” He looked down once more at Ursa, laying on her belly on Timothée’s chest, a sleepy little smile on her face. She had a permanent smile, like she was so unbelievably happy to be alive. “I find myself pinching my arm,” he said softly. “I cannot believe she is here. The princess…” 

“I know,” Timothée whispered. “I cannot believe it, either. I… I love her. So much more than I ever thought I could. Look at her rosy cheeks. And the swirl of her hair on the top of her head.” 

“She is gorgeous,” Armie said. “Timothée, you made that. You made her.” 

“You helped,” Timothée giggled. “It was a team effort, really.” 

“It was,” Armie nodded. “But you did the actual growing. I just provided the primer.” 

“You are disgusting,” Timothée chuckled. “Ursa is in good hands.” 

“Indeed,” Armie agreed. He looked at Ursa again, unable to believe that she was finally born. Three months felt like an eternity. “It is late, darling. You should sleep.” 

“But Ursa—”

“Ursa will be just fine in her crib,” Armie said. “Mommy needs sleep. Daddy will watch over her.” 

“Y-You promise?” Timothée stammered, and his arms became tighter around Ursa. 

“Do you not trust me with our daughter?” Armie asked. 

“I do,” Timothée said. “But… She is my only child. I want her to be protected and I feel as if… I-I am the only one who can do that.” 

Armie nodded slowly. He knew that omegas became territorial of their children, and he was not offended by the fact that Timothée was wary of him. He would be discouraged if Timothée handed Ursa over too quickly. “I understand,” he whispered. He got out of bed and crossed the room to where the crib sat, done up with pink and white linens and the bear toy, and he began to drag it across the room. It made a terrible scraping sound against the floor and Ursa began to whine, but Timothée shushed her and caressed her head to calm her down. Finally, the crib sat right next to where Timothée laid, flush against the bed, and Armie heaved a breath. “There,” He said. “Now, you can watch over her as you sleep. She will only be inches from you.” 

Timothée peered into the crib, at the bear toy, and he nodded slowly. Armie took Ursa into his arms and kissed her soft head for a moment before placing her in the crib and pressing a kiss to her nose. He retrieved the little bear and passed it to Timothée, who tightly clutched it to his chest. “Go to sleep, love,” Armie said. “I will watch over her.” 

“Are you sure?” Timothée asked. “Because I can watch her just fine—”

“Timmy, sweetheart,” Armie said slowly. “I am capable, I promise. Come tomorrow, and you can have her back in your arms. You need to sleep, and so does Urs.” 

“Urs,” Timothée repeated and chuckled. “Ursa Major…” He looked to the bear; “Ursa Minor.” 

“Yes,” Armie nodded. Then, he smiled and ran to the window, and he threw open the curtain. “Come, look!” He swept his arm towards himself in an effort to get Timothée to come closer, and he rose from the bed and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders to keep himself warm. He pressed himself close against his husband once at the window— who seemed to have fire running through his veins with the heat he gave off— and Armie pointed out the window and up to the midnight sky. “See those stars there? That look like a spoon?” 

Timothée scrutinized the sky and found the silver twinkling stars that Armie spoke of, a sort of strange square with a jagged line coming off of it. “Yes,” he answered. 

“That is Ursa Major,” Armie said. “And-And the one next to it, the same but smaller?” Timothée nodded. “Ursa Minor. I will tell everybody in the kingdom— no, the world!— about the constellations that are named after my daughter and her beloved teddy bear.” 

Timothée began to cry. “Our daughter,” He whimpered. “Just a wee thing. Will she really run the kingdom one day?” 

“Her day will come where she is coronated, just as you were,” Armie said. “She will wear the same crown that you do, in the same church, with the same chants. Her Majesty Ursa Wymarc Hammer, Queen of Borovia. My goodness, what a name.” 

Timothée laughed through his tears and buried his face in Armie’s chest. “I love you,” He whispered. “Despite how daft you are.” 

“I love you,” Armie replied. “Especially how daft you are.” 

Timothée wiped his tears and sniffled, and he looked over his shoulder to Ursa’s crib. “She will be okay,” He whispered. 

“She really will be,” Armie said softly. “Her christening is tomorrow; you need to sleep. I will keep watch.” 

“Make sure nobody comes and hurts her?” Timothée mumbled. “Make sure she sleeps peacefully?”

“I will,” Armie whispered. Timothée fell back into bed and curled up under the covers, and he faced the crib. 

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Good morning, little thing,” Armie greeted his daughter with a smile. “Bonjour, ma petite chose. Ah, that has a nice ring to it. Petite chose.” 

“A day old and already learning another language,” Timothée giggled. He slotted his hands under Ursa and picked her up, and he pressed her flush to his chest and began to bounce her lightly. “Are you a smart little girl? Smartest little girl in the whole universe!” Ursa gurgled and latched her mouth onto Timothée’s shoulder, and Timothée smiled down at her. “Must be hungry.” 

Armie hummed and kissed the top of Ursa’s head. “I do hope that she leaves some for Daddy,” he whispered and jokingly bit Timothée’s breast, and Timothée gasped. 

“Oh, the vulgarity!” He cried. “In front of the princess! Shame on you, sir! Shame on your entire house!” 

“Hush, you,” Armie chuckled and set a few pats onto Timothée’s bottom. “Let Urs have some breakfast, and then we have to get her dressed.” 

“Where is her outfit?” Timothée asked. 

“In her nursery,” Armie said. “I can fetch it when the time comes.” 

Timothée smiled and walked over to the window, and he looked at the snow and the sun. It was a gorgeous day, the best day for a christening. He looked down at Ursa, her eyes wide up at her mother, and he smiled even wider. “My precious girl,” he said. “Are you hungry?” 

Timothée was quick to undo his top, and Ursa naturally latched onto his nipple and began to drink. Timothée watched her, making sure she was okay, and he sighed happily. “Armie,” he said. “Come here.” 

“Yes?” Armie asked as he approached his husband, and he wrapped his arms around him and pressed his chin to his shoulder. 

“Look at her,” Timothée whispered. “Look at her eyes.” 

“They are your eyes,” Armie said softly. “And her hair—”

“Is yours,” Timothée added. “What a gorgeous… Our kingdom has a beautiful princess.” 

“You said ‘our’,” Armie noted. “Not ‘yours’. Not ‘the’. Ours.” 

“Oh, I guess I did,” Timothée whispered. 

“That is good,” Armie told him. “It is your kingdom, after all, Your Majesty.” 

Timothée shook his head lightly. “It is yours,” he said. “You are the king.” 

Armie kissed Timothée’s shoulder, and he whispered, “When will you believe that you are important? You are not just a womb, you are the queen, the mother of this kingdom. Little omegas will look up to you as a role model. You are a strong man, Timothée, and people need you. Urs needs you, and Alicia and Henry, and-and me. I need you. You are important to me. Hell, you gave me an heir; you are more important to me than anybody else.”

Timothée looked down at Ursa, still suckling away, and he smoothed his thumb down her plump cheek. Her skin was so smooth, and Timothée faintly smiled. “My daughter,” He whispered. “Oh, goodness. I wish… I wish my parents could meet her.” 

Armie sighed. “I understand,” he whispered. “I wish my father could meet her. He would love her.” 

Timothée cleared his throat and sniffled, and he said, “We must get her ready. Go fetch her gown, please.” 

“It is okay,” Armie whispered. “Really. Everything will be okay.” 

“I know,” Timothée whispered. Ursa released his breast and began to fuss, and Timothée glanced at her. “Settle down, little thing. I am still here.” Ursa gave a delicate yawn, her eyes squeezing shut, and Timothée felt his heart melt. “Does the little thing want a nap? You just woke up, silly!” 

There was a gentle knock on the door, and Timothée hurried to do his top up. “Yes?” Armie called, and the door opened to reveal Henry. 

“The meeting, Your Majesty,” Henry said. “About Leo?” 

“Damn, yes,” Armie nodded. 

“What about him?” Timothée asked. 

Armie hesitated for a moment, looking from Timothée to Henry, and he finally said, “Your unease with Leonardo was ultimately correct. He was arrested for omega coercion. We have to figure out if he will he tried for his crimes of treason along with the coercion.” 

“In my opinion, that man deserves the most wretched punishment,” Timothée said nonchalantly, gazing down at Ursa. “Trying to pay an omega for sex. What a horrible thing! Yes, Ursa! Say ‘what a horrible thing’!” 

Ursa said nothing, opting to chew her fingers. 

Henry and Armie exchanged a weary glance, and Armie slowly said, “You changed your mind about him.” 

“Yes,” Timothée said. “My daughter is an omega, she must be protected from scum like him. The less perverts that exist in our kingdom, the better my daughter and others will be.” 

Henry smiled. “Our,” he whispered. 

“Yes,” Armie whispered back. Then, at a normal volume, he said, “I am sorry to shirk my responsibilities to help prepare for the christening, but this meeting cannot wait. You understand, darling?” 

“Yes, of course,” Timothée said. He approached Armie and gave him a firm kiss to his mouth, and he whispered, “Give him hell for me.” 

Armie was left dizzy from the kiss. It had been a mere two days since they last made love, but Timothée was very much still in heat, and he could feel the tension building in the pair bond. Timothée had no idea but, as he slept, he touched Armie and gave him insight into his dream, and he dreamt of his wrists tied to the bed with a gag in his mouth, his legs thrown over Armie’s shoulders. Armie cleared his throat and said, “I will.” 

Timothée watched the men leave, and he looked down at Ursa. She yawned again, and Timothée said, “Oh, tired girl. Well, you can go back to sleep for a moment while I get your gown. Let us lay down…” he settled Ursa into her crib and kissed her forehead, and he said, “I will be right back, sweetheart. I will be just down the hall.” 

Timothée suddenly felt his body go cold, and his breath caught in his throat. Panic started to bubble up in his stomach, and he grasped Ursa tightly and pressed her to his chest. He could not leave her alone. What if somebody came and tried to hurt her? He could not live with himself if something happened to Ursa. “Sweet girl,” he whispered. “I could never leave you. Never, ever.” 

Timothée held Ursa close as he made his way to her nursery, and she gurgled and tugged on his hair the whole way. She was such a cute little thing, and Timothée loved her so much more than he ever thought possible. “Your father loves you very much,” Timothée whispered as he nudged the nursery door open. “He adores you, Urs. He named constellations after you. I have never seen him so soft for anything.” 

Ursa began to cry, and Timothée pouted playfully. “Oh, baby, it is okay,” he told her. “Do you need a diaper change? Are you still hungry?” Ursa’s wails grew louder, and Timothée bounced her lightly. “Calm down, sweet thing. Everything will be okay.” 

Then, Ursa began to gasp. Timothée almost thought they were hiccups, but something deep inside him told him it was more serious. “Ursa,” He said urgently. “Baby! It is okay, sweetheart!” His heart fell when he saw that her little fingers had a blue tint to them, and he clutched her tightly. “Armie!” He cried, and he raced out of the nursery. He hoped that Armie was not yet in his meeting; it was too important. “Armie! Armie!” 

Timothée was breathless as he listened to his daughter’s wails and gasps, and he began to cry as well. “Ursa, please,” he whispered. Frantically, he knocked on the door to the meeting room. He knew that the council would be upset with him for interrupting the meeting, but he needed Armie. “Armie!” He yelped. 

The door rattled before it was opened, and Armie stood there with a slightly annoyed look on his face. “Is everything alright?” He asked. “I saw you only ten minutes ago.” 

“Ursa,” Timothée whimpered. “She-She is not breathing! I do not know what to do! Armie, she— Listen to her!” 

Armie instantly took Ursa into his arms, and he watched as she struggled for breath. “Okay, okay,” he whispered. “Alicia!” Armie stepped out of the doorway and into the hallway, and Alicia caught the door before it closed. “Ursa cannot breathe.” 

“Oh, God,” Alicia mumbled. “She is too small. She cannot breathe because her lungs are too small. It… It is a miracle she lived this long.” 

“How do you know that?” Timothée sobbed. 

“My first child…” Alicia said. “The one I lost. He was born, but it was early and he was too small, and my physician told me that his heart was too small to support his body. No blood flow leads to shortness of breath and… I am so sorry, Timothée. I figured that she would be okay because of the charm, but—”

“Armie,” Timothée gasped and took Ursa back into his arms. “Please, Ursa, sweetheart, please.” 

Ursa was wailing and gasping, and her fingers were blue. Her cheeks were bright red, and every scream sounded like it would be her last. Timothée lifted her to his head and pressed his forehead against hers, and he gave her every happy moment of his life. The bits of his childhood that he could remember, being taken into Armie’s care, getting married and coronated. Every happy thing he could think of— sitting in the sun on a cool day, having a sweet drink, feeling heavy silk against his skin— he gave to Ursa. He wanted her to be happy. Her sobs fell off slowly, quieting before quitting altogether, and Timothée saw a single image in his mind: it was him. He was sweating and glowing and smiling, naked and beautiful, and he kept whispering down at Ursa. “I love you,” He whispered. “I love you, baby girl. My sweet girl. I love you.” 

The image dissolved away to black, and Timothée screamed.


	16. Chapter 16

Timothée laid in bed, too numb to do anything. He laid on his side, staring out the window, and he listened as Armie got dressed and lightly conversed with his footman. He was used to still being asleep when the footman came in, so the presence of another person did not bother him. Armie wore black that day, black to commemorate his daughter. Timothée was to wear black as well, but he could not pull himself out of bed to get dressed. He did not get up to eat, or to bathe, or to do anything. It had been almost a week since Ursa’s death, and he had left the bed only to use the restroom. Armie was such a dutiful husband and brought Timothée food to eat and books to read, and, while Timothée ate the food, he pushed the books aside. He was thinking all day, laying in bed, clutching Ursa Minor, and thinking. 

“Timothée,” Armie whispered and soothed his hand down Timothée’s shoulder. The boy was so frail, his emotions as thin as paper. He spent all day crying, and, when he was not crying, he was sleeping. It broke Armie’s heart to see his husband so upset, and he would have exhibited the same level of sadness, but he had to be strong for his kingdom. An annexation of a smaller, weaker kingdom was close at hand, and Armie could not afford to curl up and cry. To every other kingdom, he was still the cruel monarch, and he had to keep up the image. It was better to be feared than loved, his father always told him. People will submit better if faced with fear. “Love. I had a bath drawn for you.” 

Timothée sniffled. He turned into his back to better see Armie, and the older saw the rings of red around his eyes and the pink flush on his nose. “Leave me alone,” he whimpered out like a hurt puppy, and he turned back onto his side. 

Armie sighed. He looked over to the corner, to the empty crib, and he saw Archie laying next to it, almost as if he were protecting its inhabitant. Seeing that every day could not be helping Timothée at all. “Please, Timmy,” Armie whispered. “Just a bath. I ask for nothing more.” 

“I said ‘leave me alone’,” Timothée snapped, and he turned to face away from Armie. Armie lightly touched Timothée’s arm and saw the reds and the blues, floating around his head like dust motes. He was sad and angry, and Armie could tell that there was a large pool of doubt in his mind. Doubt about what? “Get out of my head,” Timothée hissed, and his shoulders slunk down in defeat. “Can I not… Not get one moment alone?” 

“I will leave you alone,” Armie said. “As soon as you take a bath—” 

“I am not taking a fucking bath!” Timothée cried. “Leave, now!” He sniffled and buried his face in the pillow, and he began to loudly weep. 

Armie was silent, but he removed his hand. He watched Timothée closely, studying the way he cried and clenched his fists. “It is okay to be sad,” Armie whispered. “It is okay to be angry. You are allowed to feel every little thing that you do. God knows, the first time, I dealt with it in a way no father should… Second time, I…” He cleared his throat. “It is okay to be upset. But, lover, I am just trying to help you.” 

“First time?” Timothée sniffled. 

“I had three omegas before you,” Armie said, and Timothée sighed as he remembered. “The first two lost the children and passed, and the third could not conceive.” 

“What did you do?” Timothée asked. “To grieve?” 

“The first time,” Armie started softly. “I nearly drank myself to death. I was truly my father. I was nasty to everybody, even my own mother. Even still, I have a hard time controlling myself around drinks. And the second time… I trained. I spent hours practicing my sword fighting. I would miss meetings because I was training, and I would wake up early to start and go until nearly midnight every night. I was barely sleeping. I would do it until I could not bear to hold my sword any longer. When I got my third omega… She was the one that I had liked when I was younger, the one my father told me that… You remember. I…” He paused and looked down at the floor, and he whispered, “Every day, for hours at a time, I would… I would tie her to the bed and fuck her for hours. She would cry and whine, but it made me angrier and made me want it more. I had her for two years, and she could never even be with child. I let her go a few weeks before I found you.” 

“And how are you dealing with it this time?” Timothée asked softly. He still refused to look at Armie, because he knew that he would fall apart and sob at the sight of him, and he could barely keep himself together in the first place. 

“You are the only person I talk to,” Armie whispered. “Real, thoughtful conversations. In meetings, Henry speaks on my behalf, and I… I draw. I draw her. Every paper I am given in a meeting is covered in her eyes and nose.” 

“I want to see them,” Timothée whispered. He turned his head to look at Armie, and his voice cracked when he asked, “Please?” 

Armie nodded and stood up, and he walked over to his armoire. He rifled through the drawers for a moment before coming upon a stack of thin papers, and he held them delicately as he moved back to the bed. He handed them to Timothée, who quickly sat up and began to study each sheet of paper. Small eyes were sketched on every corner, wide and dark and framed by delicate lashes. They were gorgeous. They were their daughter’s eyes. There were noses every so often, shaded with a light flush to show off the pert tip. She truly was her mother’s daughter. “Oh my God,” Timothée mumbled. “Armie…” 

“You can keep them, if you would like,” Armie said softly. 

Timothée pressed the papers to his chest before looking down at them again, and he recognized a single word: war. “Armie, what does this say?” Timothée asked quickly. He pointed to the specific sentence, and Armie leaned over and read it silently. 

“Do not worry,” Armie said quietly. 

“What does it say?” Timothée asked firmly. “It says something about war, and, if Borovia is about to go to war, I feel as if I deserve to know.” 

“Timothée, now is not the time to worry about this,” Armie sighed. “But war is close. Maybe in the spring, we will go to battle.” 

“What is the conflict?” Timothée asked. 

“We are trying to gain land,” Armie said. “To make our population larger, which will make our army stronger. We have to fight to get that land.” 

“And Henry will go to war?” Timothée asked. “We will have to help Alicia.” 

Armie sighed heavily. His whole body sagged with the weight of it, and Timothée instantly knew. “You have to go,” he mumbled. “You must fight with them.” 

“We started planning this before you,” Armie said. “Before we got married, before everything. It is too late to rework the battle plans.” 

“You were going to go to war without telling me?” Timothée asked. “You would tell me the day you left? And then what? Leave me on my own?” 

“Timothée, I was going to tell you,” Armie said. “I had planned on telling you later, but…” 

“But nothing,” Timothée snapped. “Get out, go to your meeting.” 

“Tim—”

Suddenly, Timothée clutched Armie’s pillow and threw it at him. There was no real force behind it and it was not meant to be malicious, and Armie knew that, but it still twisted his gut to see Timothée so upset. “I said go!” Timothée yelled. “Leave me, just like everybody else does! Everybody—” He sighed heavily, and he buried his face deep in his hands. “Everybody always leaves.” 

Armie took the pillow from the floor and placed it back on the bed, and he sat down next to Timothée. He had barely wrapped a single arm around Timothée before the younger was curling into his chest and sobbing loudly. His cheeks were wet with fat tears, and he grasped Armie’s shoulder and wailed. Armie shushed him soothingly, running his hand down his back, and he whispered, “I will not leave you. It would take an act of God to separate us.” 

“I am not sure I trust God,” Timothée whimpered. “He has taken my children from me and yours from you. Maybe He does not want us to be parents.” 

Armie was quiet. Timothée had every right to believe that, given the proof that was presented to him. He had been kidnapped, sold, assaulted and abused, all in eighteen short years. He had permanent scars on his neck and back and wrists from being restrained and shackled and beaten. He had delivered two beautiful daughters and had them die in his arms. Everything that had ever happened to Timothée proved that maybe God did not favor him. Armie kissed Timothée’s head, and he whispered, “Let us go for a walk. It will make you feel better.” 

Timothée sniffled and wiped his eyes on the back of his wrist, and he slowly shifted out of bed. Armie helped him stand up, and his heart dropped at the sight of his weak legs. It reminded him of the first time he had ever seen Timothée stand, his legs quivering like a baby deer’s. Timothée had been chained to the floor for who knows how long, and he had not stood in that time. Armie was proud of him for overcoming every obstacle he had ever been faced with, and he paused to pull Timothée close and kiss his forehead. “I love you,” He whispered. “Never forget that.” 

Timothée wanted to stay in his nightgown, which was understandable, so Armie covered him in his own black cloak, pulling it tight around Timothée to keep him warm in the January air. He put two pairs of socks on Timothée's legs, kissing each toe with care before sliding them on. Timothée’s feet went into his warm boots, and Armie finished his ensemble with a woolen cap over his hair. He offered his arm to Timothée, and he watched the ring-adorned hands capture his muscle and grip tightly. Timothée had never once taken either of his rings off, not even to bathe. Armie loved the sight. 

Once outside, Armie directed Timothée to the garden. Snow had melted and given way to flower buds, not yet bloomed but becoming prepared. Armie studies the white and pink buds, and he pointed at a smaller one, the young petals pulled tighter in than the others. “That is you,” Armie said softly. 

“Insignificant?” Timothée sniffled. 

“Small, yes,” Armie began. “But, come the season, it will be the most beautiful flower in the garden.” 

Timothée sighed. “I suppose,” he whispered. After a moment, he mumbled, “Take me to the village. I wish to speak to Saoirse.” 

Armie nodded. He had briefly conversed with Saoirse the night Ursa was born, a small conversation to introduce himself and tell her that Timothée needed her presence. He trusted Saoirse, as well as her little son. Armie rounded up a horse for them and helped Timothée onto his back, then pulled himself up in front of him. The horse’s hooves clopped softly against the stone road as they traveled, and Timothée held his arms tightly around Armie’s middle. They were quiet. 

The palace was a short journey away from the bustling village, definitely a doable walk, but Armie figured that Timothée was not prepared for a walk that long. To get to the village, they had to pass through a grove of trees, all barren with the winter weather. The ground turned from stone to soft dirt there, and the horse huffed as he transitioned terrains. Timothée had his cheek pressed to Armie’s back, watching the trees pass by, and his eyes focused in on a quivering mound of moss by a tree. “Armie, stop,” he said suddenly, and Armie pulled the reins on the horse to stop.

Quickly, Timothée slid off the back of the horse, much to Armie’s complaints, and he slowly approached the mound of moss. The closer he got, though, he heard small whimpers, and he saw the heavy fibers of clothing in the moss. It was not moss at all; it was something alive. 

Instinctually, Timothée rushed forward and pulled the cloth off of the quivering mass, and he gasped. Two children were huddled close together, trying to keep warm in the cold shade. One boy with pitch-dark hair and blue eyes, and one girl with matching eyes, her blonde hair in matted plaits. Their faces were chapped red with the wind, their clothes practically frozen. “Armie!” Timothée shouted. “There are children here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end of part 1...


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for letting me take a small break! i honestly meant to update last week but i got crazy busy and plain forgot! sorry about that!

“Oh my God,” Armie gasped, and he jumped down from his horse. The children shrunk away from him and the little girl whimpered, and Timothée pushed him away. “What is wrong?” 

“You are an alpha,” Timothée said. “These children, they are omegas. They are scared of you.” 

“How do you know?” Armie asked. 

“Their scent,” Timothée answered. “Linen.” He turned to the children and their wide eyes, and he whispered, “Calm down, sweethearts. It is okay. Are you hungry?” He tentatively reached out for them, and he carefully touched their blanket. It was wet and ice-cold, and Timothée hissed. He pulled the blanket off of them and unfastened his cloak, and he laid it over them. The little boy began to sniffle and cry, and Timothée sat down next to them and hugged them tightly. “They are so cold, Armie. We need to help them.” 

“Will they let me near them?” Armie asked. He gently crouched down in front of the children, and he whispered, “You are safe now. We will take care of you. What are your names?” 

The boy wept and nuzzled himself close to Timothée, and he mumbled, “Maman.” 

Armie saw the hurt flash across Timothée’s face at the name: his eyebrows knitted together for a single moment and his eyes flashed darkly. “What are your names?” Timothée asked softly. “Sweetheart, can you tell me your names?” 

The boy looked tearily at Armie, and he gasped. “Papa!” He cried. He crawled over to Armie, his hands shaking, and he sat himself in Armie’s lap. “Papa,” the boy whispered and buried his head in Armie’s underarm. The girl quickly followed suit, burrowing herself in Armie’s chest with shouts of “Papa, Papa!” 

“We need to help them,” Timothée said. He took his cloak from off the ground and wrapped it around himself again, and he stood up. “Armie, we cannot leave them here! They need to get warm and they need food, they need our help.” 

Armie stood up, balancing each child on either hip, and he passed the girl off to Timothée. She buried her face in Timothée’s chest and began to suck her thumb, and Timothée let out a single sob. “Armie, please,” he whispered and clutched her head tightly to his body. “It is a sign! God wants us to be parents, he wants us to take care of these children! Armie—” 

“I am not saying no,” Armie said firmly. “These children need our help. They are too small, too young, to be here on their own.” 

“Sweetheart, we need your name,” Timothée told the girl. “Do you have a name? _Prénom?_ " "Victoire," the little girl mumbled. Timothee looked to Armie in confusion. "Do they speak French?" He mumbled. " _Et ton frere?_ ” 

“William,” Victoire answered. 

“French,” Timothée chuckled. “They speak French. Victoire and William.” 

“We are going to take you to our home,” Armie said slowly in the foreign tongue. “And you can eat and get warm.” 

“ _Merci_ , Papa,” William mumbled, and Armie gave Timothée a confused look. 

“Why are they calling me that?” He asked. 

“Maybe you remind them of their father,” Timothée offered. “Or they recognize you as the king, the ‘father’ of the kingdom.” 

Armie examined William, studying his bright blue eyes. “Maybe they will speak more when they get warm,” he said softly. “Can you hold them both on the horse?” 

William and Victoire cuddled up close to Timothée under his cloak, pressing their cold noses into his chest, but Timothée did not mind. He kissed their heads, and he held Victoire tightly as her teeth began to chatter. Snow began to fall as they raced back to the palace, and Timothée saw his breath in the air. “These poor children,” he whispered. “If we had not found them…” 

Timothée carried Victoire into the palace, Armie trailing behind with William, and Armie gave orders to maids to run hot baths and bring as much food as they had. In the meantime, Timothée bundled the siblings up under his own cloak, kissing their heads and softly talking to them in French. He relayed to them that he and his husband were the queen and king, and William looked around for Armie. “Papa!” He whimpered. 

Timothée sighed. The thought that these children surely had a mother who was worried sick about them hurt his heart, and he considered why they were imprinting so heavily on Armie. Did their father look like Armie? Timothée asked, and William replied that they had no father or mother. When Timothée asked who had been taking care of them, William told him that they had been living on the streets. Timothée asked how old they were; William was four, and Victoire was two. Timothée discreetly wiped his tears away, and he turned towards Armie, who had walked into the dining room with two plates full of warm food. 

“They have no parents,” Timothée whispered when Armie sat down. “Armie, it is a sign, I know it!” 

There was a tug on Timothée’s sleeve, and he looked down to see little Victoire. “Maman?” She mumbled. 

Timothée held back his sob. He cleared his throat, and he asked her if she needed help. William had already started eating, taking small bites, and Timothée saw Victoire’s predicament: she was too small to see over the table. Timothée lifted her into his lap and smoothed her hair down, and he watched as she began to slowly eat. Armie moved to have William in his lap, and William giggled and pushed his small hand into Armie’s. 

“There is something about these children,” Armie whispered. “I… I feel like I know them.” 

“Maybe you visited the village once and met them?” Timothée asked. 

“Maybe,” Armie mumbled. 

Timothée brightened when he saw Esther enter the room, and she bowed before the royal couple. “The baths are ready, Your Majesties,” she said. 

“Thank you, Esther,” Timothée said. “Ah! You speak French, yes?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Esther said. “I was raised in France.” 

“Perfect,” Timothée said. “We found these children in the woods and they only speak French. I feel like they would be more comfortable if there were more people around them who spoke their language.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Esther said. She carefully approached the children, and she said, “Hello, little ones. I am Esther. What are your names?” 

“William!” The boy exclaimed. 

“And yours?” Esther asked Victoire. 

“Victoire,” she mumbled. 

“I promise you both, you are in good hands with the king and queen,” Esther said. “Your Majesty, shall I take them to their baths?” 

“We can do it,” Timothée said with a smile. “Thank you, Esther. You are too kind.” Esther bowed once more, then left the dining room. “Let us get you two warm.” 

Timothée’s fingers stung just from touching Victoire’s frozen dress, and he put her in the bath quickly. She whimpered as her cold skin touched the hot water, but Timothée kissed her head and whispered, “It is okay.” He retrieved a hairbrush and removed her braids, and he gently began to brush through her matted blonde hair. She was a gorgeous little girl, freckles on her face and her blue eyes sparkling, despite the situation. Timothée soothingly talked to her as he brushed her hair, gently working through the knots. Her hair was long, down her back in wispy toddler curls, and Timothée could imagine himself braiding it and putting flowers behind her ear. He had already made up his mind that they were keeping the children for as long as they could, and he envisioned giving William and Victoire a happy childhood. 

Finally, the knots were all gone, and Timothée carefully leaned her back to wet her hair. He retrieved a bar of soap that smelled like lavender, and he filled his hands with the soapy bubbles and began to wash her hair. She giggled and put her thumb in her mouth, and Timothée smiled. “The little princess wants to suck her thumb,” he whispered. “Do you want to be a princess?” 

“Oui,” Victoire said with a beautiful smile. 

“Your wish is my command, Your Highness,” Timothée said, and Victoire splashed in the water happily. Timothée caught some water to his chest, but he just laughed and finished washing her hair. “Let me see your hands, princess.” Victoire removed her thumb and offered her small hands to Timothée, and he was relieved to see that she had color back in her fingers, her entire body flushed red with a healthy glow. “I think it is time to get out. Do you want to sleep?” 

Victoire nodded, and Timothée gathered up a towel for her and pulled her from the bath. He bundled her up in the towel and let her dry herself off, and he picked her up and carried her to his and Armie’s bed. He set her down on the bed and went into Armie’s armoire, and he withdrew a white shirt of Armie’s that he usually wore under jackets, the sleeves long and billowy. He pulled it onto Victoire’s small frame, and she popped her thumb back in her mouth. “Let us get under the blankets,” he whispered and helped her snuggle under the velvet coverings. The clicking of Archie’s collar signaled his entrance, and he jumped up onto the bed and cocked his head at Victoire. “Archie, down,” Timothée commanded. 

Archie slinked closer to Victoire, and the little girl reached her free hand out to pet his head. “ _Chien_ ,” she mumbled around her thumb. Archie licked her hand and, deeming her safe, he curled up next to her on Armie’s pillow. Timothée sighed at the adorable sight, and he whispered, “ _Bonne nuit, princesse_.” He began to stand up and leave the room, but Victoire whimpered. 

“Maman,” she cried. 

Timothée let his tears fall. He sat back down next to Victoire and smoothed his hand down her damp hair, and she looked up at him with her blue eyes. They were so mesmerizing, almost like Armie’s eyes. Timothée felt a shock run through his body, and he leaned down and took a deep breath from Victoire’s neck. Her scent was entirely Armie. Was that why she called him Papa? “Victoire,” he whispered. “Have you ever met your father?” 

Victoire shook her head. 

Timothée heaved a sigh. “No, of course, you have not,” he whispered. He looked down at the little girl, her eyes flagging with drowsiness, and he kissed her plump cheek. He gently scratched her back as she fell asleep and, when he heard the door to the chambers open, he turned and saw Armie carrying a very asleep William. He silently put him in the bed next to Victoire, and her tiny hand instantly reached out and took her brother’s in her grip. “They are beautiful children,” Timothée whispered. 

“They are,” Armie nodded slowly. “William… He told me something interesting.” 

“Which is?” Timothée asked. 

“He never met his father,” Armie said. “He said that he did not even have a father.” 

“Victoire told me the same,” Timothée whispered. He crossed the room to his own armoire, and he pulled out a fresh nightgown. “Armie, these children call you their father, but they have never met their father. How would they know who is their father and who is only an alpha?” 

“Their scents,” Armie whispered. “Children’s scents are similar to their parent’s. Over time, as they grow and mature, they gain their own scents, but Billy and Vic are young enough to still smell like their mother and father.”

“Billy?” Timothée smiled. He pulled off his wet nightgown and quickly put on the clean one, and he added, “Vic?” 

“You have to be insane not to already be attached to them,” Armie said quickly. “Timothée, I know it sounds impossible, but I… I felt something in my stomach the first time I saw them. That first moment, there was a tug in my gut, like a fishhook. I think… Those are my children.” 

“Armie, that is not possible,” Timothée said. He returned to the bed and carefully sat down, so as to not disturb the dog or the children, and he said, “They are four and two. The only way they could be your children is if your last omega gave birth without you knowing. And that is insane, because she was with you every second of the day.” 

“She was not,” Armie said. “She… She stayed in the slave pit. She was not allowed in the palace. I-I, you know how dark it is down there, and it is probable that she was pregnant and I could not see it.” 

“The chances of that are slim, though,” Timothée told him. “There is no way for us to know for certain, Armie. You seem as if you intend to keep them, though.” 

“Timothée, I know it, these are my children,” Armie insisted. “It sounds implausible, but I know. I can feel it, I have a connection with these two like no one else. Did you see Victoire’s eyes? They are my eyes. Victoire is my daughter, and William is my son. I am certain.” 

Timothée sighed. “Armie…” he whispered. “Are you saying this because of Ursa?” 

“No, Timothée,” Armie huffed. “Those are my children. Call Henry in, call Alicia in, they will tell you that those children are mine!” 

“Be quiet,” Timothée shushed. “They need their sleep. Let us go out in the hall if we are to fight.” 

“Saoirse!” Armie exclaimed. Timothée hit his shoulder lightly, and Armie cast a glance to the undisturbed children. “Saoirse can tell us. She can perform her magic and tell us!” 

“Armie, that is not—” Timothée began, then cut himself off. “That could work. She could cast a spell to tell us. She could look into their pasts and tell us who their parents are. Even if it is not you, we could find their parents!” 

“If I am not their father, then that brings a question,” Armie started. “Why would their parents leave them in the freezing cold?” 

“Maybe…” Timothée began. “Maybe their family was too poor. Or the mother too sick. There are reasons!” 

“Maybe their parents did not want them,” Armie whispered. 

“Who would not want their child?” Timothée exclaimed softly. “It is your child! You are supposed to love them and care for them, you are not supposed to leave them in the snow or-or sell them or—” Timothée collapsed into tears, burying his face in Armie’s shoulder. “Or let them die.” 

“Timothée, stop with that,” Armie demanded. “Ursa’s death was not your fault. It was not anybody's fault. Things like this happen, love, and as tragic as it is—” 

“I am her mother, I am supposed to protect her!” Timothée sobbed. “I could not even do that! How worthless of a husband, of a mother! I can never give you children, Armie, it will never happen for us! William is our only chance for your kingdom to have an heir.” 

“It will happen for us,” Armie said. “You must not lose hope, love. After all, you just said— we have William now.” 

“Is that wrong?” Timothée asked softly. “To impose such a future on such a young boy?” 

“Not if we raise him so it is not imposing,” Armie said. 

“But being the king was never in his plans,” Timothée said. “We are robbing him of a normal life. We are no better than… Than the men who robbed me of my normal life. Armie, I am for keeping Victoire and William as much as you are, but it is a big responsibility. These children… God. Are we sure that this is what we want? Two children? A prince and a princess?” 

“I want it,” Armie said. “Do you?” 

Timothée sighed and looked towards the children. William’s eyes were fluttering, and they opened wearily. “Papa,” he mumbled. 

“I do,” Timothée said firmly. 

Armie moved closer to William and pulled him into a tight embrace, and he whispered, “I am here, sweet prince. I will never let you go.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally managed to get a chapter out. thank you all for being patient, and enjoy!

“Bonjour, Maman!” Victoire called and ran up to Timothée and jumped into his arms. Timothée laughed and hugged her tightly, and he kissed her head. 

“Bonjour, mon cher!” Timothée's exclaimed. “Why, Esther did your hair so pretty!” Victoire’s blonde hair was up in braids with a pretty butterfly clip in her hair. Timothée spied Esther trailing behind Victoire, and he asked the small girl, “What do you say to Mademoiselle Esther?” 

“Merci!” Victoire smiled, and Esther smiled widely. 

“You are welcome, Victoire,” Esther replied. “Your Majesty, she has been bathed and dressed in clothes from the village. If you wish to have her in nicer clothes, we can procure some.” 

“No, these are perfect,” Timothée said. “Thank you, Esther.” 

“William!” Victoire cried and began to squirm in Timothée’s arms at the sight of her brother and Armie at the end of the hall. Timothée let her down and she raced to her brother and began to bounce around excitedly. 

“Somebody slept well,” Armie chuckled. “Give your father a kiss.” He crouched down so that Victoire could better reach his face, and she took his jaw in her small hands and began to kiss his cheeks and nose. 

“Papa, Papa!” William said and tugged on Armie’s sleeve. “Fly!” 

Armie smiled and scooped Victoire into his arms, then picked up William as well. He balanced one toddler on each shoulder, and William and Victoire giggled as Armie walked towards Timothée. He gave his husband a quick kiss, then said, “Good morning, Maman.” 

“Good morning, Papa,” Timothée giggled. “Are you ready to see Saoirse? Let the little chickens meet their auntie?” 

“Of course,” Armie said. “You do not mind if we leave now, do you?” 

“Not at all!” Timothée replied. “It is midday, Saoirse and Aldwin should be up and ready. I sent a letter to her last night to tell her that we were coming.” 

“Perfect,” Armie said. “Victoire, Billy— do you want to meet your aunt Sersh?” 

“Oui!” The children chanted. Armie smiled at them, and he quickly relayed to them to put on cloaks. He set them down on the floor, and they raced to Esther, who had their cloaks ready. 

Timothée noticed that Armie looked a bit ill, and he gently placed his hand on his husband's back. “Are you okay?” He whispered. 

“I…” Armie began. “I cannot imagine them not being mine. I already love them so much.” 

“Even if they are not yours, they can be ours,” Timothée said. “But look at Victoire. She is yours, I know it.” 

Victoire and William ran back to Armie and latched themselves onto his leg as they giggled. “Papa,” Victoire said and put her thumb in her mouth. When Armie looked down at her, she blushed and giggled louder. 

The air was cold, but there thankfully was no snow. The family elected to walk— the children skipping down the path while Armie and Timothée walked behind, watching them. They were quiet, but Armie had a dark cloud in his mind that Timothée could sense. He reached out and looped his finger with Armie’s and held his gaze, and Armie bit the inside of his cheek. Timothée knew how devastated he would be if they were not his. 

Saoirse welcomed the family into the house immediately, and Aldwin peeked at the king from behind his mother. His eyes were big in awe, and Armie noticed with a chuckle. “Hello there,” he said and crouched down to match the boy’s height. “Are you Aldwin?” 

The boy nodded and clutched Saoirse’s skirt in front of his face. 

“You seem like a brave soldier,” Armie said. “Will you join the army when you’re old enough?” 

Aldwin nodded quickly. “He always speaks of being a soldier,” Saoirse added quickly. “He cannot wait until he is eighteen.” 

“That will come sooner than you expect,” Armie said. “Just wait.” He reached out and ruffled Aldwin’s wheat-colored hair, and Aldwin giggled. 

“Alright, where are the children?” Saoirse asked. “I need to make contact with them, and then I can look into their pasts.” 

Timothée took Victoire and William by their hands, and led them to Saoirse. “Sersh, this is Victoire,” Timothée said. “She is two. And this is William; he is four.” 

Saoirse reached out and gently placed her hand on Victoire’s head, and the little girl giggled. “I can tell that she has had a troubled past,” Saoirse said. “Grew up without positive influences. Actually…” She paused. “Without parents. I have to go far back into her past. I see a woman— brown hair and eyes, tan skin. Do you know of any woman like this, Your Majesty?” 

“Yes,” Armie mumbled. “Elizabeth. She was a former slave of mine.” 

Saoirse nodded. “This is Victoire’s mother,” she said. “And her father…” She closed her eyes and furrowed her eyebrows, and she gasped. “Your Majesty! I see you!” 

“Honestly?” Armie asked. “You are sure?” 

“Yes,” Saoirse breathed. “Yes, you are Victoire’s father.” 

Armie instantly pulled Victoire into his embrace and kissed her forehead, and Victoire threw her arms around Armie’s neck. “Papa!” She cried. 

“And William?” Timothée asked. 

Saoirse rested her hand on William’s shoulder, and she said, “His past is clearer than Victoire’s. He can remember things better than his sister. Yes, yes, his sister. Same mother… Same father. Your Majesty, these children are yours. Completely and utterly yours.” 

Armie smiled widely. “Thank you, Saoirse,” he said. “I cannot thank you enough. This means the world to me.” 

Timothée quickly relayed the news to the children in French, and William gasped and latched onto Armie’s leg. “Papa!” He smiled. “Papa, Papa!” 

“How is this possible?” Timothée asked. 

“The mother,” Saoirse said. “Elizabeth, she hid her pregnancies from His Majesty, in fear of them being hurt by him. His Majesty cast her off, and she lived on the streets and raised her children. I saw in William that the brutal cold of the winter made his mother ill, and… They have been without a mother for months.” 

Timothée nodded slowly. “And… The children recognized Armie,” he said. “Do they think I am their mother?” 

“It is possible,” Saoirse mumbled. “You look similar to Elizabeth. I am sorry, Your Majesty.”

“You are not at fault for anything,” Timothée said gently. “Thank you for telling us, Saoirse.” 

Victoire and William bounced all around the royal couple as they walked back through the wooded trail, and Armie held Timothée’s pale hand in a vice grip. He was intently watched Victoire, studying the way she skipped and tripped over her shoes, then giggled and continued to dance around. “They are mine,” Armie mumbled. “Timothée, my children… We have children.” 

Timothée nodded. He took a deep breath, then whispered, “The kingdom has an heir.” 

“Yes,” Armie said softly. 

“I was afraid of you claiming me before the kingdom had an heir,” Timothée said quickly. “I did not want you to be tethered to me if I could not give you a son. But you have a son, and… I am ready.” 

“To be claimed?” Armie asked. 

Timothée nodded and raised his eyes to Armie. “Are you?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Armie whispered. “I have been waiting for ages.” 

“Tonight?” Timothée offered. 

“We need to arrange some things,” Armie began. “We need witnesses. Technically speaking, because I never claimed you on the night we wed, our marriage has not been legal. We are not allowed to have children yet, or do anything of the sort. But the witnesses… One is my mother. The others are members of the council.” 

“You are only claiming me,” Timothée shrugged. “You bite my neck and let blood fall, and it is done. Why is it such a spectacle?” 

“Because…” Armie began. “Claiming is complicated. We must make love for my scent to be on you as the one who claimed you. I am supposed to let blood fall at the same time that you finish; to distract you from the pain. It hurts, dear. Because of how weak you are now, you will be bedridden for a few days after tonight. If we are lucky, you will be asleep the whole time.”

“Wh-What happens during it?” Timothée asked cautiously. 

Armie gave a small nod. “You have noticed my fangs by now, I suppose,” he said. “All alphas have them. We are not born with them, but they grow in after an alpha’s first rut. I will pierce the skin on your neck with my fangs, and I have to let you bleed into my mouth, then I will swallow it. You will always exist as a part of me once that is over. But, because I am breaking the skin, it will hurt very badly. Omegas are usually expected to cry and try to fight the alpha away, so the witnesses will not stop it. The only it can be stopped is… Is if the omega is bleeding too heavily and the witnesses come to a consensus that it is life-threatening. But… I apologize. I am scaring you.” 

“No, you are not,” Timothée said softly. 

“Timothée,” Armie said gently. “Pair bond; I can sense it. You are getting more and more worried with each word I say. We do not have to do this. It is a formality, yes, but not necessary.” 

“No, no!” Timothée cried, making the children look back at them for a moment. Timothée was shaking, giving shuddering breaths, and he whispered, “No, I want it. My God, I want it. I just… I am a nervous creature by nature. You cannot fault me for being nervous by something as life-changing as this.” 

“I am not faulting you,” Armie said. “I just want you to be prepared. That is all. I am trying to lessen your anxiety. Do you want to do this? We do not have to. We can break tradition—”

Timothée rose up onto his toes and softly kissed Armie in an effort to keep him quiet, and their lips parted with a soft sound. Neither truly wanted the kiss to end, but Timothée knew that he would get more when they got back to the palace. “I want to,” He whispered. “I really want to.”

_____

“Lici?” Timothée asked softly, gently knocking on the door to her chambers. “May I enter?” 

“Of course!” Alicia called, and Timothée entered to see her laying in bed with Henry, Joe cuddled up between his parents with Izzy on Henry's chest. 

“I apologize for coming so late,” Timothée whispered. 

“Nonsense,” Alicia said. “When a friend needs help, you help a friend. What is it, little one?” 

“Armie…” Timothée mumbled. “He wants to claim me.” Alicia gasped happily, and Timothée sighed. “But I am so frightened. I am not sure I want this, but I know how much he wants it.” 

“Well, it is your decision,” Alicia said. “Alphas cannot claim omegas without the permission of the omega.”

Timothée cast his eyes down. “Henry?” He asked. “Do you have any opinion?” 

Henry shifted in the bed. “You will notice that Alicia does not wear a collar,” he said. “We have been married for two years, have two children, and I have not claimed her. You do not need to be claimed to have a successful marriage. Not only that, but you and Armie seem to be perfectly content without ownership.”

Timothée nodded slowly. “So, uh…” he began. “The children are Armie’s. A slave of his became pregnant without telling him, and… Victoire and William are his.” 

“Goodness, wow,” Alicia said. “This will be interesting to tell the kingdom.”

Timothée nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It will be.”


	19. Chapter 19

“Have you given anymore thought to it?” Armie asked. 

Timothée looked up from his book, a bit dazed, and he said, “To what?”

Armie chuckled. “To being claimed,” he said. “It has been a week since it was first brought up. The time for an answer is drawing near.”

Timothée sighed heavily. Victoire was asleep on his chest and heaved as he sighed, and he stroked her back. “I am not sure yet,” he said softly. “I was owned for a very long time and, while I know that you were never hurt me… I am just uneasy about it. And what kind of message will that send to our children? ‘Once a slave, always a slave’?” 

“No,” Armie said, and he braced his forearms on the bed, next to Timothée. “It does not have to be that. It does not have to be ownership. I… We… Can break tradition. It is not a law that the king and the queen must be joined in ownership, so we do not have to. It is unorthodox, and the more conservative members of the kingdom may not be too keen to it, but, if that makes my queen comfortable… I will do it.” 

Timothée sighed. “What did I do to deserve you?” He whispered, cupping Armie’s jaw with his soft hand. “You are so kind to me.” 

Armie smiled. “How could I not be?” He asked. He examined the bed, Timothée and Victoire and William and Archie all curled up, barely leaving room for the king. “Move the hound.” 

“Archie,” Timothée chirped. “Off the bed.” 

Archie’s ears flipped up at the sound of Timothée’s voice, and he gave a grunt and hopped down from the bed. He curled up comfortably next to the window, and Armie got into the warm bed beside his husband. “I love you,” Armie whispered. 

“And I you,” Timothée said softly. 

“And you,” Armie whispered and smoothed down Victoire’s curls. “And you too.” He patted William’s back as he slept, and William pressed his cheek close to Armie. “And you too, hound.” 

A small huff came from underneath the window, and Timothée set his book on the table next to the bed. He quickly blew out the candle, leaving only the moonlight to illuminate the room, and Armie wrapped an arm around Timothée. “Sleep well.” 

_His back ached. His knees felt like they would crumble into dust. His hands were rubbed raw from the brush, and he pushed his hair out of his sweaty face. His punishment was to scrub the floors, and it would not have been bad, but he was nearly ten months pregnant— his baby was late._

_Timothée let out a heavy breath and forced himself to stand up, pain filling every muscle in his body. He groaned and clutched his back, and let out a heavy breath. “Just a little longer, sweetheart,” Timothée whispered in his belly. “We will be free soon, I guarantee it.”_

_“Timothée,” a woman’s gentle voice yelped, and suddenly the bucket and brush were being pulled from his hands. An older woman was there, gray hair and lash marks all over her arms. Glenn, her name was. She was the oldest slave at the estate, and she took care of the fourteen-year old Timothée. He was too young and too weak to be pregnant, let alone to be as pregnant as he was. “Why are you working, child? You need to be in bed!”_

_“Master is making me,” Timothée huffed in exhaustion. “I did wrong by him, and this is my punishment.”_

_“Oh, dear,” Glenn mumbled. “You go get in bed. I will finish this.”_

_“No, Glenn, I could not make you—”_

_“Timothée,” Glenn said sternly. “Go to bed. Your little one will come any day, you need your strength.”_

_Timothée nodded and began to leave the grand foyer, but he stumbled and fell to his knees. He clutched his belly and began to cry, and his tears fell to the tile floor._

_“Slave!”_

_Timothée’s heart stopped. He sniffled and looked up to see his master, a squat older man that reeked of liquor and evil. “I am sorry, Master,” he stuttered and began to stand up._

_A swift kick came to his side, and Timothée tumbled back to the floor. He cried out in pain and covered his belly with his arms; his baby. Nobody would hurt his baby. “Sorry is for people who deserve it,” his master spat. “You pawn your punishment off to someone else?”_

_“Master, I offered—” Glenn began, but she fell silent quickly at the look on his face._

_“Did you do this?” His master asked._

_Timothée weeped. “Yes,” he mumbled. One way or another, he would get beaten. He might as well pretend to admit to it. “I am sorry, I am just so tired—”_

_“That baby is making you tired?” His Master asked, and Timothée nodded. “I can take care of that.”_

“Timothée!” Armie yelled, and Timothée shot up in bed. He was sweating and shaking, and Victoire and William were huddled up against Armie. Archie was barking like a dog infested with a disease, and Timothée saw little Victoire crying. 

“What happened?” Timothée asked. 

“You were having a nightmare,” Armie said gently. “Screaming and crying. You were not waking up.” 

“I am so sorry,” Timothée panted. He reached out for Victoire, and she cowered away from him. “I… Vic.” 

“What was the dream?” Armie asked. 

Timothée swallowed thickly. “I do not wish to speak of it now,” he said softly. “Send the children to their room and let them sleep.” 

Armie relayed the message to Victoire and William, and the children carefully left the bedroom, Archie trailing protectively behind them. Timothée clutched his legs to his chest and sobbed into his knees, and Armie pulled him close. “What happened, darling?” Armie whispered. “Tell me what happened, I can help you.” 

“No, you cannot,” Timothée sobbed and pushed Armie away. He got out of bed on shaking legs and crossed the room to the washbin and pitcher, and he poured cold water into the bin and splashed his face. His hands were shaking so violently at the memory that had surfaced, and he breathed heavily as he looked into the water. A small boy, a weak boy, his hair long and tangled, his face colored with tears. A boy who was beaten for being pregnant. An owned boy. “You cannot help me.” 

“Timothée,” Armie said gently. “Sweetheart. Just tell me what you dreamt of. Please. You were screaming and crying, you scared me greatly.” 

Timothée sighed. “I dreamt of a memory from when I was fourteen,” he mumbled. “And was pregnant for the first time. My master found out that I could not do my chores because of how fatigued I was, so he…” His voice cut off, and he bit his bottom lip. “He beat me. Kicked me, spat on me, until I bled. I lost my baby because of how savagely he beat me. It was soon after that I became pregnant with Madeline, but… Oh, God. I pushed that memory so far down that I figured it would never surface, but… Something must have happened to make me remember. Armie—” He turned to face his husband, who was already half-dressed, doing up the ties of his undershirt. “Armie. What are you doing?” 

“I am going down to the slave pit,” Armie said. “I am going to see your ownership records, find out the name of the man who beat you, and kill him.” 

“Armie, no,” Timothée said softly. “Darling, you must contain your anger.” 

“How might I do that when I know what atrocities you have been subjected to?” Armie snarled. “In my kingdom, no less, all while I was in power. It is my fault that things like this happened to you and to others, and I intend to right every wrong I have ever put on slaves.” 

“It is not your fault,” Timothée said. “You outlawed slavery years ago. It is nobody’s fault, except for the men and women who kept the underground trade alive. Do not fault yourself.” 

“What do you expect me to do?” Armie asked. He was seething, nearly foaming at the mouth in anger, and Timothée grabbed his arms tightly. 

“Fight,” Timothée said. “Teach me to wield a sword. I need to know, and you are the best swordfighter in our army. Teach me.” 

“No,” Armie said. “Absolutely not. I am not doing that.” 

“Why not?” Timothée asked. 

“You could get hurt very badly,” Armie said. “And I need you to be available.” 

“Fine,” Timothée huffed. He wiped his tears off of his cheeks and got back in bed, and he said, “Go find my records. Leave.” 

“Timothée—”

“Leave.” Timothée barked. “Please.”

_____

“ _Un, doux, trois_ ,” Timothée said, pointing to the different pencils. “ _Rouge, bleu, et jaune. Oui?_ ” 

“ _Oui_ ,” Victoire replied. “ _Un, doux, trois!_ ” 

“ _Oui!_ ” Timothée smiled. “ _Et…?_ "

Victoire looked at the pencils with the colored leads, and she slowly said, “ _Rouge… Bleu… Et jaune?_ ” 

“ _Oui!_ ” Timothée exclaimed. “ _Si intelligent, mon chérie!_ ”

Victoire giggled, and a small tug came from Timothée’s skirt. William was sat on the floor by Timothée’s throne, playing with a small knitted horse toy, while Victoire sat in his lap and had her daily lessons. “ _Oui?_ ” Timothée's asked William. 

William cleared his throat and looked to Armie in his own throne, quietly conversing with a page, and he said, “Papa, can you teach me sword?” 

“Just a moment, darling,” Armie mumbled. 

“Armie!” Timothée exclaimed. “William! He spoke English!” 

Armie turned to look at William quickly, and he began to laugh. “Have you been teaching him?” He asked. 

“No,” Timothée said. “He must be learning by himself!” 

“Such a smart one!” Armie smiled and picked William up and spun him around gleefully. “So smart!”

“I know it,” William said. His accent was thick, but it was clear English. “I learned from the village.” 

Armie stopped spinning in confusion. “Why have you only spoken in French until now?” 

William shrugged. “Was afraid,” he said softly.

Armie held his son tightly, and he sat down on the ground at Timothée’s feet. “Does Vic know it?” Armie asked. 

“No,” William said. “Never let her go to the village.” 

“Oh, goodness,” Armie laughed. 

“He learned a language all by himself,” Timothée breathed. “He is… He is a genius!” 

William smiled and gave a small laugh, and he crawled out of Armie’s lap and up into Timothée’s lap. Both children giggled and cuddled close to Timothée, and Timothée pressed his cheek into Victoire’s warm head. “I love you both,” he whispered. “You and your sister. And your father, but he does not need to know that. It is our secret, Billy, mother to son, yes?” 

“Yes,” Billy said. “May we play outside?” 

Timothée looked out the large windows to the garden, and he saw a gentle wind blowing wet snow around. “It might be too cold at the moment,” he said. “Let us wait until after lunch, and I will come with you.” 

“Your Majesties!” A young voice called, and Armie and Timothée looked up to see a page running in, breathless and covered in snow. “The jury has decided!” 

“Jury?” Timothée asked. “What jury?” 

“What did they decide?” Armie asked sharply, ignoring Timothée completely. 

“Death,” the page said, and Timothée presses the children’s ears in between his chest and hands to keep them from listening. “By hanging. They found him guilty of dishonoring the queen.” 

Timothée’s heart dropped. “Surely not Leonardo,” he said. “They did not decide to put him to death for insulting me, surely! Plenty of people insult me daily, why does Leo get punished for it?” 

“But he did not just insult you, darling,” Armie said. “He dishonored you. He made up a lie with the intention of taking your crown from you, a lie about how you were an adulterating queen. He dishonored you and, in dishonoring my husband, he dishonored me. He deserves to be out to death.” 

“Armie, no,” Timothée gasped. He placed the children on the floor and stood up, and he pulled his skirt up to approach his husband and the page quicker. “You mustn't! You promised to not be cruel to your subjects, you promised me!” 

“This is not an unjust cruelty, Timothée,” Armie said. “Leonardo deserves this. He dishonored his queen, he tried to solicit an underage omega, he broke many laws. He fully deserves to hang.” 

“Please, do not say such things in front of my children,” Timothée said. “They… They do not need more death in their lives than they already have.” 

“William and Victoire are my children as well, Timothée,” Armie said. “As the future rulers of our kingdom, they must know that these things happen.” 

Timothée huffed indignantly. “Leonardo deserves a life as much as anybody else does,” he said softly. “He made a mistake in the past, but that does not mean that he needs to die. Please, do not do this.” 

“Timothée,” Armie barked and took his arm tightly. The simple action made Timothée flinch back as terrible memories flooded his mind, but Armie took no notice. “I am your alpha, you shall not argue with me on something that has already been decided. Leonardo will hang tomorrow morning, and you cannot change this.” 

Timothée gasped as he cried. They could not see. They could not see him cry at their father triggering a traumatic reaction from him. The children did not need that. “How could you?” he whispered. “I thought you had changed. I thought that I had changed you, that Ursa had changed you. But no; you are the same cruel alpha that selected me from the slave pit.” 

“If you are to act this way towards me, you know your punishment,” Armie snarled, his lip curling up to expose his fangs. “I have not had to punish you before, but I will not hesitate.”

“Do it,” Timothée spat. “Do your worst, Your Majesty. But know this: anything you do to me, your kingdom will see it. They will see you punish your husband, your children’s mother.” 

“ _Step_ -mother,” Armie said sharply. “And the kingdom will see me punishing my slave. It is nothing I have not done before.” 

Timothée was crying harder than ever before, but his face burned with anger. “Do it,” he said on a trembling breath. “Do it! Punish me, then, if you are so keen on it!” 

Armie pushed his shoulders back, and he simply said, “Guard? Take His Majesty to the dungeon, please.”


End file.
